Remedy
by Piquichi
Summary: Prague, 1995: ISA agent Shane Donovan is captured, only to reemerge a hunted man. Jan. 2008: Now they're after his family. Can he unravel the mystery of his past in time to save his children...and mend his relationship with Kimberly at long last?
1. Prologue

_**Remedy**_

_No sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy…" As You Like It_

**Prologue**

**May 1995**

The black and white marionette bobbed up and down, wooden sticks knocking, as a few children gathered to listen to the puppet maker sing songs and act the part of a clown. It had been an unusually warm day and the sun was just beginning to make its slow descent behind thickly forested hills in the distance. The wide stone bridge loomed before him, the largest of its three towers rising ahead of him, standing sentry over the serene river and the divine swans that nested there. Shane remembered when this once quiet hamlet had been the perfect cover for clandestine tete-a-tetes during the early eighties. Now, after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the ensuing Velvet Revolution, the Charles Bridge was packed with tourists, and this gem of a city was once again bustling with young artists, musicians, and college students. His heels clicked over the broken cobblestones as he casually strolled across, his thick, dark hair contrasting with his bright white shirt open at the collar. He flung a navy Armani suit coat over his shoulder and smiled in passing at the charcoal drawings, watercolor paintings, and guitarists he passed on the way. Kimberly and the children would love it here, he mused. He recalled a particularly interesting conversation he had had with young Andrew on his birthday. His son's fondest wish at nine years old was to join a rock band. Though the thought surprised him a little, he did recall trying desperately to learn the violin at his age and failing miserably. He suspected, however, that Andrew had been unduly influenced by his uncle -- Kimberly's younger brother Bo. Shane almost laughed out loud remembering a certain American superstar singing his way across the English countryside all those years ago. He couldn't wait to give Andrew his welcoming present when he came for his usual summer visit to Donovan Manor: a fully loaded, cherry wood Gibson Les Paul guitar. He had sworn Kim to secrecy and, in the meantime, had agreed to pay for lessons.

Despite the divorce and years of separation, he and Kimberly had a fairly comfortable relationship now. It hadn't been easy at first. He had been especially worried at the events that transpired after he left Salem three years ago. But long conversations with Kim's sister-in-law Marlena had assured him that she was being properly cared for and needed time to recover from the psychological scars of her past – too long unattended to. In fact, as a practicing psychiatrist, Marlena had specifically requested Shane not rush to Kim's side and try to, in her words, "fix everything." Staying away had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. The continued presence of Kim's husband Phillip would have to do. Shane had to admit: the bloke had stuck around a lot longer than he'd expected him to. He had to grudgingly give him credit for that. And subsequent late night conversations with Kimberly had convinced Shane that allowing her the time to heal had been wise advice. Still, it had been hard to feel her going through all that from a considerable distance – even harder to know she no longer needed him. He sighed and turned for a quick survey of the street behind him, the metaphor forming in his mind. Yes. They had crossed that bridge years before. Kimberly had moved on. He just had to accept that fact.

He picked up the pace as he passed in front of the Old Town Hall, looking up to catch a glimpse of the Orloj astronomical clock, its famous wooden apostles silent now behind a shiny gold and blue clock face, awaiting their chance for an appearance at the top of the hour. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. He spied the canopied café tucked away from the main square and ducked behind the crowds of bustling tourists, catching snippets of Mahler and Verdi wafting through open upstairs windows ringed with bright spring flowers. He picked up a local newspaper left on a wooden bench and found a small table in the shade facing a side street. He removed his sunglasses, nodded to the waitress, and opened the paper.

He didn't have long to wait. He had just finished a slightly overcooked espresso, when a faded light blue Peugeot blinked its lights twice and he stood, knocking over the small wrought iron chair – his signal. He stooped to right the chair, paid for the coffee and, tucking the newspaper under one arm, crossed the street and climbed into the backseat beside an aging, grey man.

"Good to see you, old boy," the man said in a familiar, clipped accent.

"Sir, wh--?" Shane's head slumped forward with the force of the blow, and the car sped off.

* * *

**Two weeks later, Los Angeles**

"Are you sure, Peachy?" Kimberly wound the phone cord around her well-manicured finger and stared out the kitchen window as she listened to Shane's long-time ISA partner relay the details of his disappearance. She didn't know how she was going to explain this to their children – especially Andrew. He had been looking forward to this summer so much. He idolized his father and, and try as he might, Phillip could never quite fill the void. "Well, please let me know if you find out anything," her voice was tinged with worry. It wasn't like Shane not to at least try to contact her. "I know, I know." Tears filled Kimberly's eyes as sentiments from one of the wisest women she had ever met reached across the miles to hold her in a reassuring embrace. "I love you, too. My best to Kate and the grandkids. Bye." She hung up and ran a hand through her wavy blond hair. Great. One more thing to add to this banner of a year. She glanced over at the kitchen table strewn with nearly week-old mail and other papers. It wasn't like her to put things off. Sooner or later she would have to actually read the fine print in her divorce decree.

She sighed. It didn't matter much, anyway. She didn't want anything from Phillip. They had parted amicably enough, but she hated reliving her mistakes. And that's just what Phillip had been -- a mistake. It had been so easy at first to lean on him. He was so accommodating, so constant, so…there. Upon returning to L.A., she really felt they had a future together. At last, someone stable, who would cherish her and never ask too many questions, never get too close. Someone safe. But he didn't like that tepid position in her life any more than she enjoyed sharing hers with someone who never challenged her. The further along she got in her therapy, the more she was discovering how very much she missed the person she had once been. How curious, adventurous, brave -- how very unsafe -- she used to be. The thought excited her and terrified her at the same time. But she knew she had to find that woman again and stop settling for the false security of a man she didn't love which, she realized now, had only served as a replacement for the walls she had once constructed around her heart to keep anyone from getting in in the first place.

So, as not to spoil everyone's holidays this year, they had waited until after Christmas to share the news of their separation. It had surprised no one, but it shook the children a little. She had meant to tell Shane but thought it best to wait till summer break…or, she admitted to herself alone, for the right time to level the news on him and gauge his reaction. In the meantime, she had her work and was just beginning to get her bearings as a consultant for the L.A. police department. In fact, she had spent the morning talking to a young girl and her mother, convincing them to testify. Mostly, she found the work rewarding, having been instrumental in putting several pedophiles and even one serial rapist behind bars. And she was enjoying her advanced studies in psychology, as well. She even picked up her camera on occasion and ventured out to the beach or up the coast on those rare days of freedom she had off and snapped rolls and rolls of film, not as yet caring when she would have the time to develop them.

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Peachy. Shane was missing. No one in the ISA was giving Peachy straight answers and even Kim knew what that meant: he was either dead or the ISA was deliberately hiding something. She had been down that road before and knew not to trust the official word, as did Peachy, but she sensed that something was wrong. Even after all this time and all the hurt he has caused her, she still felt connected to him.

She started sifting through the mail, distractedly formulating excuses in her mind to use with Andrew and Jeannie as to why they were not to visit their father in England in three weeks' time. She stopped, having landed on a single postcard with no return address. It pictured a fog-filled cobblestone street lit by a single old iron street lamp and a certain stone bridge rising up in the background. She flipped it over. A single word appeared on the back: "Love..." She was used to these postcards from Shane's missions. He liked to have the children follow where he was -- sort of like their very own game of "Where's Waldo?" They would get out the world map and pinpoint his travels. It was harmless enough. But this time was different. This was just the sort of clue she needed. She picked up the phone and called her sister Kayla, then made her travel arrangements. She knew what she had to do. She was going to Prague.


	2. Chapter 1

**A chilly January evening in the Cotswolds, present day**

The moon was bright enough to illuminate the highway that passed in front of the old, stately country manor. It certainly was imposing, and the lithe young woman felt small as she reached the gate between the stone walls that encircled the house. No lights shone in the windows of the Tudor-style mansion, and its spires were dark against the blue-black of the night sky. The wind whipped around her pale face and honey-blond hair, and she pulled her black wool coat close around her. _This is crazy. What am I doing here in the middle of the night?_ she thought. _Peachy was right. There's clearly no one home. It's deserted_. She peeked through the wrought-iron gate and cautiously reached out to touch it. Silence. _Hmm, no alarm_. She looked around her. An oak tree rose on the outside of the wall to her right. If she could just reach that first limb and pull herself up and over. _What harm could it do?_ She could walk the grounds and maybe look in a few windows. She barely remembered the place, but every time she came to visit Peach she longed to see it. She hadn't sneaked out and come all this way not to at least give it a try.

Getting over the wall was easier than she thought and she found herself facing her secret castle. That's how she always viewed it. She had felt like Cinderella here. After all, the last time she visited she couldn't have been more than ten. She tiptoed across the stone walkway that led to the front of the house, then ducked behind a stone pillar at a sudden rustling overhead. Her gaze followed a batch of blackbirds as they burst out of a nearby tree and fluttered off toward the full moon. She sighed in relief and resumed her quest. She came to the front enclave and peeked around it at the large wooden door, then crept toward the window. Suddenly, a flash of light shone through the glass. Startled, she glanced around quickly for a place to hide and ducked behind a hedge as the door swung open and an elderly man in an overcoat and slippers held a lantern aloft and peered out into the night. She held her breath. Then she felt a warm hand grasp her shoulder and whip her round. She gasped, "Oh!" She stumbled out of the bushes, dried leaves clinging to her hair.

"I've got her, Simmons!" The tall, young man announced triumphantly.

She heard footsteps approaching and the light from a second lantern bounced off the shadows. A familiar voice pierced the night air. "Now, who on earth…?" He stopped short.

She turned to face him and her eyes grew wide. "Daddy?"

Shane stared at the beautiful young girl before him. Her skin was like porcelain, her button nose small and slightly turned up, her long, silky hair fell in waves. She was taller, he thought. And her eyes were an austere hazel-brown, like his, but she was Kim's daughter, all right. She took his breath away. "Jeffers, bring her over here," he said in a hushed but firm tone, then he grabbed her by the arm and practically flung her through the front door. Jeffers looked around, then followed them in, as Simmons doused the lanterns and the men hurriedly pushed her toward the back of the house.

"Jeffers, wait five minutes then do a quick tour of the grounds to see if she's been followed," Shane ordered.

"Yes, sir," the lanky, dark-haired man replied and disappeared down a hallway.

Simmons led the way back to a small kitchen in the servants' quarters, where a fire lit the hearth and three clear mugs of ale waited on a wooden block table. "Simmons, could you leave us for a few minutes?" Shane asked.

"Certainly, sir." And the old man made a discreet exit.

Shane thrust her into a chair by the fireplace. Her scarf fell to the floor and she quickly ran a hand through her hair, attempting to remove some of the leaves, but her eyes never left his. He was dark and imposing, just like Donovan Manor itself. He looked thinner, more weathered than she remembered; his wavy black hair, now peppered with grey, was pushed back off his face. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and trousers and there was several days' stubble on his face, but even so, it was unmistakably him.

He put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. "Just what do you think you are doing?! Do you have any idea how much danger you were in? You could have been followed or attacked or…worse." He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace the room. "What are you doing in England and how the devil did you get here, anyway?" He continued, not waiting for an answer. "And at this time of night! Have you taken leave of all your senses, young lady? I know this isn't exactly downtown L.A., but it's still very dangerous!" He leaned down and grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes boring into hers, "We thought you were an intruder. We could have hurt you," he shook her slightly, "Do you understand?"

In a flash, she remembered the gun he had removed from his waistband and set on a table as they rushed in. His hands squeezed her shoulders hard and they began to ache. She stared at him, willing her lip to stop from quivering, but the tears spilled onto her cheeks unbidden. "You--you're alive," she stammered, then dissolved into great heaving sobs.

He watched her, his heart breaking. He loosened his grip and knelt before her. "Jeannie…" She flung herself into his arms, and he held her tightly, stroking her hair and taking deep, calming breaths. He couldn't believe she was here; he was holding his daughter in his arms after all this time.

After a while, her crying slowed and he released her. She sat back up in the chair, wiping the tears with a handkerchief he had handed her. From his crouched position, he watched her remove her coat and place it on the chair back. She looked at him. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't know anyone was here."

"So breaking and entering when no one's home is better?!" He looked at her incredulously. _She was reckless, this one_. He stood up and sighed, trying to control his temper. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm sorry if I scared you." She relaxed a little at the term of endearment. He turned back to face her. "You just have to understand that it is not safe for you here." He leaned on the edge of the table. "How did you get here anyway? Were you staying at Peachy's?"

He had correctly surmised that her plans for winter break included spending some time with the woman she had come to know as almost a grandmother. Through the years, Lavinia Peach had been the singular link to her father. She had told them nothing; only that, last she knew, a few years back, their father was alive but she didn't know where he was. As Jeannie grew older, she knew that Peachy was keeping other secrets from them, but she could never get her to admit anything. Still, she longed to know why her father had suddenly lost contact with them almost five years ago. The ISA reported him dead and, as it had happened on more than one occasion, her mother had difficulty believing it. However, as the years dragged on with no word, the official explanation seemed more and more plausible. _Until today_, Jeannie thought in wonderment.

Shane fetched Jeannie a blanket and some hot tea and they sat at the table as Jeannie related how she had come to sneak out of Peachy's house and have a friend she had met at a pub give her a ride. With the usual teenage foresight, she hadn't planned past getting to Donovan Manor and had given no thought to where she would spend the night or how she would return. After haranguing her about the dangers of hitching rides with total strangers in the middle of the night, Shane placed a quick call to Peachy to let her know that Jeannie was all right. Then, after receiving word from Jeffers that Jeannie had not been followed, Shane let his guard down a little, and he and his daughter talked through the night. Jeannie peppered him with questions which he deftly avoided, and he let her go on about school, her friends back in L.A., her older brother Andrew, and of course, her mother. Shane marveled at her. She had grown into a bright and engaging young woman.

As morning broke, Jeannie lay asleep in a nearby armchair as Shane stared at the dying embers of the fire and considered his options. His carefully crafted plans had just been blown to pieces by an obstinate young girl with more courage than common sense. He glanced over at her lovingly. What to do now? The sound of Simmons shuffling into the room brought Shane out of his reverie. "Sir, there's a call from Miss Peach on the secure line. It sounds urgent."

"Thank you, Simmons." He walked through to a smaller back room, being careful not to awaken his daughter. "Peachy, what is it?" He expected news about a certain someone they had been tracking near Brussels. Even though he had been officially declared dead by the ISA, Peachy and he still had an extensive list of contacts scattered throughout the agency. And good agents were fiercely loyal to one another, regardless of rank or official status. But as she hurriedly relayed the frantic phone call she had just received from Kimberly, all breath left his body and he leaned against the door frame. It seemed his decision had been made for him.

He returned to the kitchen and knelt by Jeannie, gazing at her for a minute. Then he reached for her arm and gently roused her to consciousness. "Sweetheart, you have to get up."

Jeannie blinked at him, yawning. He had that serious look on his face again. _What had she done now?_ She sat upright.

"Jeannie, something's happened. We're catching the next flight to Salem."


	3. Chapter 2

**University Hospital, Salem, early morning of the same day**

Kimberly sat alone in the university hospital lounge, a cup of cold tea on the table in front of her, her placid green eyes staring out the window at a few passing snow flurries. Yesterday she had been in breezy Los Angeles, finishing up some loose ends at the clinic, in which she still had an interest but was less active. With all that had transpired in her personal life over the last few years, she felt better handling cases on an ad hoc basis. She was still drawn to helping abused young women, and especially children, but even the most well-trained counselor needed time to step back and re-evaluate. She had had great success in publishing articles in psychology magazines lately and, following on the heels of her first photography book, she felt more drawn to the solitary profession of writing. It also afforded her more time with Jeannie and Andrew.

Thankfully, she'd never had to struggle financially. Phillip had left her a nice settlement to add to the endowment Shane had set up for them before… She wrestled with her thoughts for a moment, then forced her mind to return to the children. Being a single mother took everything she had and then some. And now with her younger sister Kayla back in Salem, she felt more alone than ever. She had the feeling that, though the children had their friends and had grown up there, Los Angeles never quite seemed like home to them. _Why was that?_ she wondered. There was just something about Salem, about family and the people who knew you best. After a quiet Christmas at her parents' house this year, she let Andrew stay for a few weeks to catch up with his cousins – Bo's son Shawn Douglas and Kayla's daughter Stephanie, whom he treated like a sister.

Jeannie was another story. Allowing her to jet off to London to visit Peachy had been a difficult decision. But she had kept her grades up this semester and managed to stay out of trouble…for a longer time than usual, at any rate. It was getting harder and harder to say no to that young woman, and it scared Kim at times. Still and all, she felt sure Peachy and her large family would keep her safe and happy – and, as an added bonus, the transatlantic trip would satisfy Jeannie's inherited wanderlust for a while. She had been worrying about the wrong child, she realized ruefully.

Andrew was about the least impulsive person she had ever known. He always planned everything, down to the last detail. She remembered how he had pulled together his very own birthday party at thirteen and made all the arrangements. She was lucky to be invited, as she had often felt so very far away from him during those early teenage years. As a general rule, he kept everything bottled up inside – even now. But he hadn't always been that way. As a boy, he'd been loving and carefree, even a trifle naughty at times, but always in a good-natured way. Then his father went missing, and her little boy became a man overnight. She instinctively understood how he must have felt responsible for her and Jeannie. Phillip had long since stopped visiting and his calls were getting more and more infrequent. Andrew had no one to lean on, no one to pick up the mantle of protector and caretaker for his family. So, at seventeen years old, he assumed it himself. Her father, her brothers Roman and Bo -- even Marlena's husband John -- had stepped in whenever they could, but Kimberly knew that an occasional fishing trip or guys' long weekend wasn't enough. At times, the burden her son carried weighed heavily on her heart and she wished she could have found someone to take it from him. But, as the years progressed following Shane's disappearance, Andrew seemed to grow into the role, and she had to admit, it suited his personality. Even his choice of school – Stanford – was based almost solely on consideration of how near he would be to her and Jeannie.

She glanced up at the clock. 8:00 a.m. She wondered what was keeping Kayla, who had promised to provide her an update on Andrew's condition over an hour ago. She shivered as she recalled the telephone call from Bo. "Kimber, now, don't freak out or anything, but you need to come home right away." She could feel in her gut that something was wrong. Maybe he had caught a terrible flu or fallen and broken an arm? Bo's voice had been steady, but she could tell that it wasn't as simple as that. She barely remembered placing the call to Peachy before rushing to the airport to grab the first flight out. She hadn't even considered how Jeannie would get to Salem, and Peachy had assured her she would take care of everything. The flight seemed an eternity, and she had gone straight to the hospital, only to be told that Andrew was still in surgery. Her parents, Bo, his wife Hope, Roman, Marlena – her whole family was waiting for her when she got there. After the initial tearful hugs and encouraging words, she escaped to the lounge alone to think. It had been nearly twelve hours since Bo first told her of the attack. She couldn't believe it. Her boy was fighting for his life after being randomly attacked and left for dead on the pier last night. It just didn't make sense. The pier nearest her parents' house had always been well-lit and safe. And what had he been doing out there all alone at night? The questions bombarded her exhausted brain, but the answers never came. She didn't hear the door swing open.

"Kimmie?" Kayla's voice was almost a whisper.

Kimberly stood and turned anxiously to face her. "How is he?" she asked hesitantly.

Still dressed in her blue surgical scrubs and wiping the sweat from her brow, the bright blonde moved in to hug her sister.

Kimberly stiffened, fearing the worst. "Kay…" she pulled away and looked her squarely in the eye. "Tell me. I need to know."

"Well, whoever attacked him ruptured his spleen. He had extensive internal bleeding. We're lucky we got to him in time. We've managed to get the bleeding under control. It's a miracle we had his blood type on hand. It's so rare…" she stopped, and the sisters' eyes met in solemn recognition of old wounds and their singular cause. Kayla bit her lip. "He's still very weak. We'll know more in the next twenty-four hours." She paused. "Kimmie…" She tried to look reassuring, but her sister could read her like a book.

Kimberly's eyes filled with fresh tears. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything more." She choked back a sob. "He could die, couldn't he?"

Kayla nodded, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Still ever the optimist, she managed a slight smile, "But if he's half as stubborn as his mother…"

Kimberly shook her head. "I just wasn't expecting…I mean, Kay, I never expected this…" Her voice trailed off. "Can I see him?"

"Of course."

Machines beeped a steady rhythm in the semi-darkened room. The shades were drawn across the wide plate glass window that looked out into the hallway and a single table lamp lit the side of his bruised face. Andrew's right eye was swollen shut, his nose had been reset and bandaged, his upper lip was stitched up and an oxygen tube thrust down his throat. His left leg was raised above the bed in a traction pulley. Her tall, athletic boy looked so small and helpless tucked under the light blue and white blankets. She pulled up a chair by his bedside and nearly collapsed into it.


	4. Chapter 3

**University Hospital, later that afternoon**

A long while later -- or perhaps it had only been a few minutes, Kimberly couldn't tell -- an out-of-breath Jeannie burst through the door of the isolated hospital room. "Mama?"

Kim rushed to embrace her daughter, and they clung to each other crying. Then Kim pulled away and gently brushed the hair back from Jeannie's tear-stained face.

Jeannie glanced over at her brother for the first time. "Oh, my God. Andrew." She walked to him and touched his hand.

Kim put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, then took a breath and gave Jeannie an update on his condition, leaving out the part about the outcome being uncertain.

Jeannie removed her coat, trying to compose herself. She turned back to her mother. "Mama, I didn't come alone," she said after a long pause.

"Oh? Did Peachy come with you? I thought the doctor said she couldn't travel."

"It's not Peachy, Ma." Jeannie squeezed her mother's hand. "I'll be right back."

Kim was too tired to play guessing games. She moved to Andrew's bedside and leaned down to kiss his cheek, then straightened, watching him intently and running a soothing hand over his wavy black hair. The door swung open, and she could feel someone's eyes on her, but she couldn't look away. "Jeannie. Who…?"

Then she turned and her heart stopped. Standing before her in a grey woollen coat, his dark hair disheveled, his brown eyes tinged with red from lack of sleep, stood Andrew's father. _Shane?_ She blinked, unable to utter a word.

He looked and looked at her, drinking in her flowing blond hair, her iridescent skin, the calm, clear green eyes he could get lost in for hours. She was more beautiful than his memories and dreams could ever make her. Standing in her presence, he felt he had finally come home. He cleared his throat softly. "Kayla told me he's stable." He rubbed a hand over his nose and mouth and sniffled, then lifted his head to look at her. "Kim…"

Her breath returned in a rush of feeling and suddenly she wanted to be as far away from this man as possible. She brushed past him and ran out of the room, nearly knocking Jeannie over.

"Dad?"

"Jeannie, stay with Andrew." He turned to follow Kimberly through the hallway, only to be headed off by a silver-haired man in a fit of pique.

"I don't think she wants you here, _Captain_ Donovan," Kimberly's father burst out.

Shane set his jaw. "Shawn..."

"Matter of fact, none of us do." Shawn's Irish brogue thickened in his anger. "You are no longer a part of this family. I suggest you leave this place right now!"

A dark-haired man in his late forties rushed over from the nurses station and stepped hurriedly between the two, "Now, Pop. Just hold on a second there."

"Bo, get out of my way!" Shawn pushed against his son's muscular frame. "This man abandoned Kimmie and my grandkids. He has no right bein' here!"

"Shawn!" the diminutive blonde by his side interjected. "Please calm down. This is not the time."

"Caroline, it's all right," Shane cut in. He held up his hands and stepped back from Shawn. "The last thing I want to do is cause anyone any more…" He swallowed hard. "I just want to know they're all right. That's all I've ever cared about."

Bo managed to subdue his father, who was still quite strong for his age, then turned to Shane. "Maybe you should go in and see Andrew."

_How strange_, Shane thought. In a complete role reversal, here he was tearing after Kimberly without a thought to the consequences, with Bo as the calm, level-headed one.

Shawn strained against Bo's hold on him. "I don't want him anywhere near that boy!"

"Pop…Pop! Listen, I know it's hard, but he _is_ Andrew's father." Bo nodded to Shane, who cast him a grateful look and returned to the hospital room.

Jeannie turned as her father entered, met his even stare and, despite the years without him, guessed what he was thinking. With a maturity beyond her years, she stood and quietly left the room.

Shane removed his coat and laid it on a nearby chair. He held a clenched fist to his mouth as he stood over his son. So, this is what it's like when your worst nightmares come true. This was no random event; he knew that for certain. He couldn't understand it, though. Why now? He had been so careful. What had triggered this? Was _he_ in Salem? His mind raced with the questions of a seasoned investigator; then he stopped himself. He could work all that out later. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, reaching out to touch Andrew's arm. "Oh, dear God," he whispered. "Andrew?" Images of his son being born, playing in the park as a boy…pictures of a tall, vibrant young man kicking a ball on a playing field all flashed into his mind. "Son, I'm here." He said the words, but they sounded hollow to him. His eyes brimmed with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He clutched Andrew's limp hand. "I did everything I could. I never wanted it to come to this. I tried…" His voice caught. "I tried so hard. I let you down. I let all of you down. I'm so sorry." He buried his head near Andrew's shoulder, the tears now flowing freely.

"What do you mean you never wanted it to come to this?"

Startled, Shane sat up. "Kim."

She inched closer, her arms crossed in front of her. "What do you mean, Shane?"

He stood, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his eyes. "I don't think we should go into this now."

"Why not?" Her voice grew steadily louder. She was still in shock that he was really here at their son's bedside – and crying unabashedly, it seemed -- but she couldn't deal with all the emotions rushing at her just now. Right now she had her son to think of, and she was mad as hell. "When exactly is the right time for you to tell me how you nearly got my son killed?"

Her powers of deductive reasoning were just as keen, if not keener, than most of the agents he knew. Shane took her aside and whispered, "Maybe we should discuss this outside, hmm?"

She glared at him, and with a quick look at Andrew, she whipped round and strode out of the room.

She pushed through the lounge door as he followed. "Well? I'm waiting." She whirled around to face him, tapping one foot.

"Kim, would you please just try to calm down?"

Her mouth dropped open incredulously.

"Okay, okay," he conceded, "Under the circumstances, you have every right to be upset. But you need to understand that there are certain things I cannot tell you. It's not safe—"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me! After what just happened, you expect me to fall for that line? Not _safe?!_ Was it safe for Andrew, huh?" She moved toward him, her fists clenched, her eyes flashing. "Did you know this was going to happen? Did you?!" She rushed him, her fists pounding against his chest. "Did you know?!"

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms up till she was forced to look at him. Her breathing ragged, her heart racing, she met his intense gaze, and for a long moment, neither could speak. "No, Kim. I didn't know," he said finally. "I would give anything to have prevented this. You have to believe me," he pleaded, his eyes still searching hers.

She took a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?" she whimpered, struggling against his hold on her.

He shook his head and released her. With a deep sigh, he stepped toward the window, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She continued, "We were doing just fine without you." She kept her back turned so he couldn't read the truth in her eyes. "And now, after all this time, the years of not knowing, of thinking you were…" She still couldn't bring herself to say the word. "You just show up here! I don't know what to think." She was so tired.

"I know." He sighed. "My being here is completely ludicrous, even to me." He turned and walked to her. "I should have left well enough alone." He placed his hands hesitantly on her shoulders. "I guess I found I could no longer do that."

She shrugged out of his grip.

Chastened, he thrust his hands in his pockets. "I suppose if our daughter hadn't taken it upon herself to break into the Manor, I wouldn't be here at all."

She turned. Her mind jumped from Jeannie "breaking into" Donovan Manor, to his stating matter-of-factly that if she hadn't, he wouldn't have come, even though their son's life hung in the balance. Perhaps she had spent too many years with a spy, but she ignored her first impulse to slug him and began her search for answers. "Does this have anything to do with what happened in Prague?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her, but remained stoically silent.

She raised her voice. "I've told you everything I found out there, but you never told me a thing!"

"We are not going to rehash this again, are we?" he replied, exasperated.

"Isn't it time you finally told me?"

He looked at her for a long moment, then lowered his eyes.

She stomped her foot. "Come on, Shane Donovan! Out with it! I'm tired of the games and half-truths. At least, just tell me if it's all connected. Does your disappearance, your suddenly turning up here alive…" Alive – the word echoed in her head, but she tried to remain focused. "Does any of it have to do with this attack on Andrew?"

After a brief silence, weighing just exactly how much he could tell her, she presumed, he replied contritely, "I think so, yes. I haven't been able to work it all out yet, but whoever was after me then knows I'm alive now and is trying to make good on threats made years ago."

"How many years ago?"

His eyes met hers. "Too many." Their eyes remained locked together and they carried on a silent conversation. "Listen, I know you're not going to like it, but I can't tell you any more," he said. "At least, not yet. Please, Kim…" he touched her arm. "I have no right to ask this, but you have to trust me."

She yanked her arm away. "Trust you?" She moved away. "You appear out of nowhere without any explanation. Our son could die because of this mess, and you won't even tell me why! Trust you?! I don't even know you." She turned and left the room.


	5. Chapter 4

**The following evening**

A thick fog rolled in off Salem river and buoys clanged mournfully in the distance. A lighthouse lamp passed over a thatch of fishing boats bobbing by the docks and momentarily lit two men on the pier arguing vehemently. One man held the other by the collar and shoved him hard against a pillar. "Do you remember anything now, mate?"

Though he was definitely rougher and more muscular than the man who held him, the longshoreman replied in a surprisingly high voice, "I told you! I didn't see who did it. What did you expect me to do -- leave the kid there and go looking for the guy?"

Shane let the man loose. "No, I suppose not."

"Listen, I already answered all these questions down at the police station. I got nothing more to say. Can I go now?" He straightened his coat.

Shane let him pass, then turned to gaze out over the harbor. Another dead end. All he knew at this point was that the man who attacked Andrew was tall and fit with clipped brown hair and appeared to be middle-aged. Not exactly a standout. What he didn't know was what Andrew was doing on the pier that night alone. He would have to get that answer from Andrew himself once he woke up-- _if_ he… He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, then snapped them open at the sound of footsteps behind him.

"I heard you were down here harassing the locals," a deep voice boomed.

"Now, Roman—"

"Listen, Shane, I already told you what I know about the case." He ran a hand through his curly grey hair. "Hell, even though you're not official ISA, I let you look at our files. You know we're not gonna find out any more about this guy until Andrew's well enough to tell us."

Shane eyed his former brother-in-law, wondering just exactly how much his younger brother, Bo, had told him. "I'd like your opinion on something, if I may," he ventured.

Roman's eyes narrowed as he put his hands in his coat pockets to warm them. "Shoot."

"Given what you know about the DiMeras and other crime families that have infiltrated the ISA through the years, what do you think it'll take to stop them? I mean, all the money and power never satisfies. And the lives they destroy -- for what? I know it's personal. Even after all the years of training, learning to keep yourself from getting too involved, I know what it's like for something to be personal." He looked at him. "But when the roots are this deep, how do you cut them out? How do you end it?"

Roman thought for a minute. His own experience with Stefano DiMera taught him that men like him are really only after one thing: revenge. All the diamond prisms, biological and chemical weapons, and riches in the world mean nothing without someone to destroy. In the end, it's always about having the upper hand over your enemies and the false sense of power that brings. "Personal vendettas are always stronger than any political or economic power gained over complete strangers. They feed men like Stefano. It's their life blood. Take away their reason for revenge, and you end it."

Shane arched an eyebrow. "But you and I both know it's not as easy as it sounds."

"Not when it involves your family it isn't," Roman returned. "And after such a long time, it takes a hell of a lot to bring 'em down."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Shane said thoughtfully. He walked past Roman and began climbing the stairs.

"Hey, Shane."

He turned back. "Yes?"

Roman looked up at him. "Whatever you're planning, just…be careful. I know what it's like to lose everything trying to protect the people you love."

Shane gave a low, sardonic chuckle. "So do I, my friend. So do I."

* * *

**The Brady Pub**

The small waterfront bar was bustling with activity at this late hour on a Saturday. Shane stepped inside and rubbed his hands together. He checked in with the bartender who informed him that his former in-laws were at home. He took a quick look around, then walked through a back door and up the stairs, the steady pulse of the music from the pub slowly fading with every step. He took a breath and rang the bell.

"Shane." Caroline greeted him warily from behind the half-open door.

"Hi, Caroline."

"Any news on Andrew?" she asked hopefully.

"No, not yet. I'm headed over to the hospital soon. Listen, I wonder if I may speak with Shawn for a moment. Is he at home?"

She gave him a guarded look. "Well, he's in the middle of…" She paused, then sighed in resignation. "I suppose. Come in."

Shane stepped over the threshold and felt the warmth of the place wash over him. His mind drifted back to family Christmases and summer picnics with the Bradys. They had welcomed him almost from the start and treated him as one of their own. How things had changed.

"Can I get you anything?" Caroline offered, moving to the kitchen, picking up a dishcloth, and wiping the counter.

"Uh, no. No, thank you."

She studied him carefully, and realizing he wasn't exactly in a conversational mood, said, "I'll get Shawn then." She disappeared through the side doorway.

Shane took a deep breath, anticipating the coming fight. He was grateful at least that Kimberly and Jeannie were still at the hospital. He wasn't sure if he was up to being attacked on all fronts tonight. It was warm enough to remove his coat, but he felt he'd better not. He was persona non grata in this house, and he was here for information, nothing more. He walked to the fireplace and looked over the myriad of photographs of the Brady children and grandchildren. He picked up what must have been a fairly recent picture of Kimberly and the children on the beach in, he guessed, maybe Santa Barbara. Kim's smile could still light up the whole world. He traced it with his finger. Shawn cleared his throat and Shane turned, quickly placing the picture back up on the mantle.

"What can I do for ya?" Shawn folded his arms in front of him and lifted his chin.

Shane kept his distance. "I know I am the last person you probably wish to see—"

Shawn chuckled mirthlessly. "Boy, you got that right."

"And, considering the circumstances, if I were in your shoes, I'd feel exactly the same way."

"Don't be so sure you know I feel," Shawn retorted.

"I won't then," Shane returned. "I just need to ask you something."

"Well, get on with it. I have things to attend to."

"How did you know?" Shane asked quietly.

"Know what?" Shawn shot back.

"You know very well what I mean." Shane's eyes narrowed. "There is no way you would have read me the riot act at the hospital if you had thought I was dead. You knew I was alive, and I want to know who told you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Shawn moved to the kitchen and leaned against the countertop.

Shane continued, "Who else knew? Did you tell Caroline? Kimberly?"

Shawn fidgeted but said nothing.

"I don't think you realize what kind of danger you put yourself in, not to mention Kimberly and the children."

Shawn glowered at him. "Listen, I would never do anything to hurt those kids. You know that. Especially Andrew. The boy needed someone to look after him. You see, his father just up and left. They believed you were dead. Someone had to step in, because you sure as hell wouldn't."

Shane was determined not to be goaded into an argument, but it was getting more and more difficult to control his rising temper. "Did you _tell_ anyone?" he said through clenched teeth.

Shawn thought for a minute. "Caroline knows. That's it."

Shane glared at him. "Are you absolutely certain no one else knows?"

"Of course I am! I'm not an idiot, you know. John made me promise…" He stopped, reminded of the accident and overcome with sadness for the sudden loss of the man he would always consider a son. Then he recalled the day last summer, while waiting for Marlena, he'd overhead John on the phone in his office discussing Shane. When he'd questioned him about it, John said no one knew Shane's whereabouts or why he hadn't contacted the family. This wasn't the first time Shane Donovan had disappeared without a trace. This time, though, Shawn made up his own mind about Shane's reasons for staying away. He didn't want to see his daughter hurt like that again, so he said nothing.

Shane shot him a piercing look. "What exactly _did_ John say?"

Shawn sighed. "He said it was a dangerous situation and that it would be best if the family didn't know. Caroline and I agreed not to tell Kimmie and the kids. You see," he continued, growing bolder, "I'm a father. I look out for my kids. That's what fathers do. Not that you'd know anything about that."

It had been a long forty-eight hours, and Shane couldn't resist firing back, "Oh, and you _always_ protected your children, is that it, Shawn? Like you protected Kimberly from your brother?" He looked at him pointedly.

"How dare you come into this house, _my_ house, and insult me like that!" Shawn reached for Shane.

"Shawn!" Caroline rushed in from the back room and stood between them, putting her hands on her husband's chest. "Please, don't."

Shane stepped back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I…" He blinked hard at Shawn, whose face suddenly blurred before him. The room began to tilt and spin and he grabbed for the kitchen counter to steady himself.

The surprised look on Shawn's face caused Caroline to turn around. "Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

Shane looked down and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

"Shane?" Caroline's motherly instinct took over and she put a hand on his back. "Perhaps you should sit down." She pulled a chair round as Shawn watched.

"I'm all right," Shane whispered. His breathing was uneasy, but he kept his head down and concentrated on slowing his rapid heartbeat.

"Shawn." Caroline's eyes pleaded with her husband, and he grabbed Shane by the shoulders and forced him down into the chair. "Take your coat off," she continued. "Shawn, help him." Shawn tugged at the coat awkwardly and Shane shrugged out of it and leaned forward. "I'll get you some water," said Caroline.

"I'm fine," Shane waved her off. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It'll go away."

Just then, Kimberly came bounding through the front door. "I've been calling and calling but it was busy. And I swear, you never have your cell phones on…" She stopped when she saw Shane hunched over in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. He was deathly pale. She ran over and knelt by his side. "What's going on? Shane, are you okay?"

He rubbed his eyes, then stood up shakily. "I'm just a little tired."

"You haven't slept in a couple of days," offered Caroline.

"Shane," Kim grasped his arm.

He brushed it off and, finding his sea legs, walked past her, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one hand. He took a deep breath and turned to face her. "So, how's Andrew?"

She stared at him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Kim," he barked at her.

She took a step back, then, remembering her news, she gushed, "Andrew's awake!"

Caroline and Shawn rushed to hug their daughter.

Shane breathed a sigh of relief and reached for his coat. "I suppose I'll see you all at the hospital then."

As he turned to leave, Caroline called out cautiously, "Now, Shane, are you sure you feel well enough to drive?"

Kim walked to him. "I just came to collect a few of his things. If you'll wait for me, I can drive us over."

He was too tired to argue.


	6. Chapter 5

**That same evening, on the road to University Hospital**

They sat in silence for the first few miles of the drive. Shane leaned his head against the passenger-side window, resting his eyes. Kimberly glanced sideways at him. "You can stop doing that," he murmured.

"Doing what?" she feigned innocence.

"Looking at me like that, checking on me."

"Force of habit, I guess."

He smiled.

"Seriously, though, Shane, is it better or worse than it was in Rome?" She kept her eyes on the road, her fingers gripping the steering wheel.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "You remember."

"Of course I remember," she struggled to keep her voice light. "You didn't answer my question."

"Kim…"

She looked over and her eyes met his. For a moment, they were lost in a small upstairs studio in Largo Sant'Alfonso ten years ago. She could hear the downstairs neighbors arguing in Italian and car horns beeping on the busy street below. She turned back to the road.

He gazed at her. She had come to him like an angel then. "It seems we always come back to this, don't we?"

"Only because you still refuse to tell me what happened to you," she returned. "And what all this is about."

He shook his head. "You know as well as I do that I can't give you any answers."

"Then we're done here." She pulled into the emergency center lot, parked, and shut off the engine.

He reached for her hand. "Kimberly—"

She turned to him. "Yesterday you asked me to trust you. How can I when you don't trust me?"

"It's not that I don't—"

She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. "Even if I forget everything else…"

He lowered his eyes for a moment, considering all that entailed.

"I can't just sit on the sidelines waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was enough having to go through another funeral and thinking that this time you were really gone…" she stopped, her eyes filling with tears.

He reached up and gently touched her cheek, his dark eyes shimmering.

"But now Andrew? Who's next, Shane? And why?" She removed his hand from her face and placed it in his lap. "Until such time as you can gather up the courage to tell me everything, and I mean _everything_, I can't…I can't do this."

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I understand." They stepped out of the car, he picked up the bag she had brought for Andrew, and they made their way upstairs to the ICU.

When Kim entered Andrew's room followed by Shane, she noticed that the oxygen tube had been removed and the head of the bed raised a little. Jeannie was seated by her brother, with her back to them, holding his hand and laughing. Andrew smiled wanly at her. Jeannie turned to her mother, as Shane dropped the bag on a chair near the door. When she saw her father, she stood up, and Andrew attempted to peek around her. Kim headed him off. "Now, I don't want you getting too tired out talking with your sister." She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "We brought some things for you."

"We?" Andrew's voice was small and raspy.

"Um, Andrew…" she suddenly realized that, with all the commotion surrounding Shane's return, she hadn't thought about how to tell him. She supposed, too late, that she should have prepared him.

Shane stepped around Kim and looked down at his son. "Hello, Andrew," he said quietly.

Andrew's eyes grew wide and he struggled to sit up. "What's _he_ doing here?!" he managed to spit out.

"Shane," Kim said worriedly.

"Now, Andrew, calm down," Shane reached for his shoulders to press him back against the bed.

"Don't touch me!" He gasped. "I told you I'm not going with you!"

Shane reeled back, letting go of his shoulders, and Andrew fell back, exhausted.

"Shane, please," Kim grabbed his arm. "He's getting too upset. Please…"

He stood staring down at Andrew, then glanced at Kimberly knowingly. "Of course. I didn't think…"

"I know. Neither did I."

Shane stepped hurriedly through the door, as several nurses and staff rushed into the room. He watched through the window as they tended to Andrew; then, assured that his son had calmed down and was doing better, he leaned against the opposite wall for a few seconds, looking up at the ceiling. So Drew _had_ been here. How was that possible? His brother was in custody in an ISA prison. Yet, somehow he had been here, and arranged for the attack on Andrew. As hospital personnel streamed out of the room, Shane's eyes met Kimberly's through the glass. Then he stormed off.

* * *

_Rome, Italy. Autumn, 1997._

_Shades of sienna mixed with pinks, purples, and blues painted the skyline behind the glistening gold and pewter dome of the basilica, while the metropolis around this ancient city within a city hummed with rush hour traffic and the speed of twentieth century life. After whizzing past St. Peter's Square as the bells tolled the hour, the little black taxi followed a maze of side streets, leaving behind the more well-known tourist attractions and the distant sight of the monstrous, hollowed-out Colosseum, and coming to a stop at the top of a hilly street. Kimberly stepped out and took one quick look round before grabbing a small suitcase and sizing up the soot-stained cement building in front of her, with its iron balcony railings and thick wooden door. She took a deep breath, paid the driver, and climbed the steps._

_Shane sat in near darkness on a lumpy mattress in a small back room, his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed as he tried to sleep. From behind the half-closed door, he could hear a man muttering as he shuffled through the apartment. He heard a door creak open and closed and muted conversation. He opened his eyes and instinctively reached for his gun. He pulled himself up onto his left leg, using a nearby chair back as leverage and reached for his cane. Then he limped quietly out of the room, his eyes adjusting to the lamps that lit the hallway. "Nico?" he called, inching along the wall. _

_He spied the back of the stout, balding Italian, who turned to face him, "Do not worry, Donovan. She is well-informed and has given me the correct passcode. I am guessing you two know each other." _

_He stepped aside, revealing a petite blonde with bright, sparkling eyes that widened with concern as they lighted upon the cane and the overly thin, drawn-looking physique of the man before her. They stared at each other for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts. _

_Nico looked from one to the other, then reached for Kimberly's bag. "I take this, signora." He paused, then continued, "Do let me know if you require my assistance, Donovan." _

"_Thank you. We will." Shane handed him his gun, his eyes never leaving Kimberly's. _

_Nico sidestepped out of the room and into a second bedroom, the door banging shut behind him. _

_They stood frozen to the spot for several minutes, their eyes drinking each other in, until hers filled with tears and she rushed toward him. He took her in his arms, and the cane clattered to the floor. She buried her head in his shoulder and he closed his eyes, feeling her warmth envelope him. He pulled her to him tightly, then groaned in pain as he was forced to put pressure on his right leg to maintain his balance. She pulled back. "Oh, here." She reached for the cane. "You should sit." She took his hand and led him to a nearby sofa, where they sat beside one another. _

_He took her hands in his. "You're here," he said in disbelief. "How? Wha--?" He stopped, speechless, and she reached up and touched his face tenderly. _

"_I had to come." _

"_Peachy shouldn't have told you. It's dangerous for her, as well as you." _

"_I know." Her eyebrows knit together as she took in the dark circles under his eyes. "What did they do to you?" she asked in a whisper. _

_He cast his dark eyes to the floor, avoiding her searching gaze. He swallowed hard then said, "I'll tell you. I will. Just not now." _

_She nodded. _

_Then he squeezed her hands and looked at her. "How are the children?" _

_She smiled. "They're fine. They're with Mom and Pop. I thought it best." _

"_Do they know?" _

_She shook her head. "At their ages, I didn't think they would understand. John explained as best he could to the rest of the family, without revealing too much. That's another reason I wanted Jeannie and Andrew to stay in Salem. I know they'll be safe there." _

_He eyed her questioningly, "What does Phillip think of all this?" _

_She suddenly realized he didn't know. How could he? "Shane, Phillip and I divorced two years ago. In fact, it was finalized about a month before you disappeared in Prague." _

_He took a breath, taking it all in, then said with feeling, "Oh. I'm sorry, Kim." _

_"Thank you for that." Silence overtook them once more. "You look tired," she said softly. "You should rest." _

"_I still can't believe…" he began. _

_She put a finger to his lips. "Shh. I'm here for as long as you need me. I'm just grateful you're alive," her voice caught. "I was so worried." _

_He looked at her in amazement. "Thank God you're here." _

_She leaned toward him, and he pulled her to him in a gentle hug. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair. And they held on to each other as night fell over the Eternal City._


	7. Chapter 6

**Salem, present day, three weeks later**

It looked just the same. The oil paintings on the walls, the cherry wood paneling, the flood of morning light through the French doors overlooking the terrace garden and the lake beyond. Everything was as it had been all those years ago. Shane set down a box of books next to the others and straightened, putting his hands on his lower back and stretching. He could never bring himself to sell the place. Over the years, Kimberly had rented it out, but no one seemed to stay long. One would have thought the house was haunted, he mused. The doorbell chimed and he walked to the door, wiping his dusty hands on his faded jeans.

"Hello, Gov'nor."

Shane smiled. "Bo. Come in."

"I heard you were opening up the old place." Bo looked around at the furniture draped in white cloth and the parade of boxes in the foyer and living room.

"Yes, well…" Shane followed him through, gesturing to his left, "I'd offer you a drink, but I'm just learning my way around the new bar in the corner there."

Bo glanced over at it. "Hmm. Nice touch. I forgot Kimberly had that installed. It kinda reminds me of the one in your first house."

Shane nodded, then motioned for him to sit. "So, is this a social visit, or do you have some information for me?"

Bo passed up the couch and walked the living room, inspecting the fireplace and glancing out the windows at the dreary, leafless trees. He hated winter. "Is Andrew really going to be staying here?" He turned back to Shane. "From what I understand, he's not too keen on you. Thought you were your twin brother at first."

Shane pursed his lips. "Which is why it's more important than ever we find out where Drew is."

Bo shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see how we can. Andrew couldn't provide us with any details. He's probably still too upset about the whole thing. And Abe, Roman, and I have run out of leads."

Shane folded his arms. "Well, maybe in time, Andrew will be able to tell us more." He walked to a chair and sat down. "In the meantime, I'm counting on a few of my old contacts at the ISA to provide some fresh ideas. I had hoped to speak with John, but…" His voice drifted off and they exchanged a quiet look. Bo finally came to a stopping point and sat down on the couch opposite Shane. "So," Shane began, "this is not a working visit, I take it. Okay. Out with it. What have I done wrong now?"

Bo chuckled. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm just the messenger."

"And?" He watched Bo's face expectantly.

"Well, the folks and me think maybe you're pushing this thing with Andrew a little too much."

Shane's eyes registered surprise. "What do you mean?"

Bo licked his lips. "You know, opening up the old house, having him move in here with you. He's been through an awful lot, Shane. He doesn't know which way is up right now. And here you come waltzing back into his life like the last five years didn't happen. We just don't think it's a good idea."

Shane leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He lifted his eyebrows. "'We?' Meaning you, Shawn, and Caroline? Kimberly had nothing to do with this?"

Bo shrugged. "Well…You know what? It doesn't matter. What matters is Andrew. Listen, Shane, since this whole thing began, I've done the best I could to help you with your family—"

Shane stopped him with a look, "And you know how much I appreciate it, Bo. I can never repay you."

"Yeah, I know," he said sheepishly. "You would have done the same thing for me if the situation were reversed. It's just that… He might need some time. At least until you find out more about what's going on with your brother."

Shane tensed. "You mean by asking Andrew to stay here I'll be placing him in more danger?"

Bo glanced at him. "That's one way of looking at it. But I think maybe your spy radar is clouding everything up a little."

"My spy radar?" Shane scoffed, then stood and walked to the fireplace. He traced the edge of a familiar black and white photograph with a finger.

"Yeah," Bo continued. "You know, you're looking at everything as an investigator trying to solve a case. You're not looking at it like…" he struggled for the right way to put it.

Shane turned. "I'm not looking at it like a father. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?"

Bo stood and faced him. "Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em."

Shane sighed. "You know, when I found out Andrew had been hurt, I honestly didn't know what to do." He paced the room. "I had tried for so many years to stay out of their lives, hoping to keep them safe, and it _still_ happened. They still got to him. I don't know how they found out, and I'm powerless to stop them from trying again. I didn't know if by coming here I was making things better or worse." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, after all those years of considering my next move, like I was caught in some infernal game of chess, I now find I've been check-mated and I don't know how I got here. All I have is my instinct and right now it's telling me to keep him close. And, who knows? If, in the process, we're able to re-establish some sort of father-son bond…" He walked to the window. "Oh, I don't know! I'm at a loss."

"Would you take a little friendly advice?" Bo asked quietly.

Shane turned to him. "I've never needed it more."

Bo stared at him. "Tell them what's going on."

Shane gaped. "What?"

"Tell Kimberly, Andrew, and Jeannie everything."

"But that's—it's impossible, Bo, and you of all people should know that." He paced past him to the bar and leaned against it.

Bo pressed on. "Is it? I mean, I remember a long time ago, when we were working on our first real case together, you told me I should trust Hope and tell her everything. Remember?" Shane recalled the conversation. Bo had tried to keep his involvement with the Dragon from Hope because he was worried she would jump in the middle of things and jeopardize her safety.

Shane swung around, steely-eyed. "That was different."

"I don't think it is, Shane…"

"Yes, it is," he countered. "That was one case. This is my entire life! This is something that goes back generations and involves far too many people, people I care deeply about. The only way I've been able to keep my family safe is by keeping it from them, and I'm not about to stop now."

Bo raised his voice. "You mean you _won't_ stop now. You have a choice, you know."

"_I_ have a choice?!" Shane put a hand to his chest. "Since when have I _ever_ had a choice, Bo? I've given up everything! My children, the woman I—" He stopped mid-sentence, then continued, "I've run halfway round the world, called in favor after favor. People have died protecting them. You mean to tell me their sacrifices were in vain?" He pointed a finger at him. "And what about you? You've kept what you know a secret. You're complicit in all this."

Bo narrowed his eyes. "Now, wait a minute there, English. Don't go shifting the blame. I kept it quiet because you asked me to. I trusted you, and it seemed the logical way to keep my sister and her kids from getting hurt."

Shane shrugged. "Well then?"

Bo shot him a look. "But you just admitted that things have changed. The stakes are higher than they were before. I mean, your damn brother came after Andrew right here in Salem. It happened right under my nose, and I couldn't stop him. I feel just as responsible as you do. And because I do, if you won't tell them, I will!"

Shane glared at him for a moment, then turned away and pounded his fist on the bar. "Damn it all!" A marked silence set in as Shane struggled with his emotions, trying desperately to formulate a single logical plan of action. After a while, he had to admit he had run out of options. He sighed deeply and turned to Bo once more. "What if they don't believe me?" He asked finally. "I mean, after all I've put them through… Let's face it, Bo. After all I've put your sister through, she wants nothing to do with me. And I don't blame her."

Bo walked to him. "I'll tell you what you told me all those years ago. You said that the way Hope bounced back after the shooting showed how tough she was, that she could handle herself, that she's a fighter." He put a hand on Shane's shoulder. "I know Kimberly better than anybody, and she's a fighter, too. If you're honest with her, she can handle anything."


	8. Chapter 7

**Andrew's hospital room, later that day**

"So, what's he like?" asked Stephanie, flinging her auburn hair over one shoulder as she stretched out her legs on the bed.

Jeannie stood looking out the window at the cold, lifeless day as Andrew continued packing his bag. With his left leg in a cast, he was moving slowly. But, apart from getting used to his crutches, in many ways, he was feeling more like himself. Stephanie gestured to him, offering him help. He brushed her off, keeping his somber brown eyes on his task.

"Who?" asked Jeannie, distracted.

"Uncle Shane, that's who," she watched them both. "I mean, it's me you're talking to here. I know what it's like to have your dad…" she shrugged. "Well, you know, just show up." She thought back to the first time she had seen her father after all the years of believing he was dead. He hadn't even remembered her or her mother -- or who he really was. "Does he look any different?" she ventured.

Jeannie moved to the bed and sat down. "It's kind of confusing, Steph. He looks the same to _me_. I couldn't believe it when I first saw him, but I knew he couldn't be anybody else." She eyed her brother who seemed determined to ignore them. "I guess I never thought about Uncle Drew. Nobody ever really talked about him. He disappeared before I was born."

Andrew finished packing, set his bag on the floor, and slumped down onto a chair, propping his leg on the chair opposite. He picked up a magazine.

Jeannie made a face. "I mean, we used to get weird Christmas and birthday presents from him, but that's all I know."

Stephanie turned to Andrew. "Speaking of weird, what about moving in with your dad, huh? Why aren't you staying at Grandma and Grandpop's like Jeannie and your mom?" The room filled with silence, as Andrew continued to thumb through the magazine.

"Hey, Einstein," Jeannie walked over and nudged him. He hated when she called him that.

He dropped the magazine and shot his sister a look. "Listen, kids, it's been fun, but I'd really rather not talk about it, okay?"

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "God, you sound so much like him." She feigned a British accent. "'I'd rah-ther not talk about it.'"

Andrew glared at her. "Watch it, _princess_." There. They were even. She smirked at him, mimicking a slight curtsy.

When Andrew was fifteen, he'd spent the better part of a year traveling with his father in England and had picked up more of the accent than Jeannie. Now it only came out when he was angry. She envied him that. It sounded so cool. She remembered spending a summer at Donovan Manor mustering up the most affected accent she could. It helped when she was acting in plays at school, but she couldn't pull it off on a daily basis like her tall, dark, and handsome older brother. It was annoying.

A quiet knock on the half-open door ended their argument before it began. "Oh, hi, Stephanie."

"Hey, Aunt Kim." Stephanie stood up.

Kimberly smiled at her. "Your mom's outside. I think she's about finished with her rounds."

"Guess I should be going." Stephanie hugged Kim and Jeannie and waved to Andrew. "I'll see you later, okay, Jeannie?" she tossed over her shoulder as she left.

"Sure," Jeannie returned with a smile. "Oh, Mama, I almost forgot. Steph and I are going to a movie later. Is that okay?"

Kim laughed. "As usual, you make your plans, _then_ ask my permission."

"At least I asked," Jeannie said sweetly. Kim ruffled her hair. "Mama! Stop it!" She reached up, frantically smoothing her golden tresses.

Kim gasped, "Oh, dear God, I touched her hair! What ever will she do, Andrew?" She was gratified to hear a small chuckle from her son. She knew he was dreading what was coming next. She couldn't blame him. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why Shane had insisted he stay with him. In point of fact, she couldn't understand what Shane was still doing here at all, but… He had muttered something about setting up Andrew in the studio on the ground floor so he wouldn't have to navigate the stairs, how he would be safe there until they figured out more about his attacker -- a whole litany of sound, logical reasons, none of which succeeded in fully convincing her. But, she admitted secretly, she also wanted to see how it would turn out. Shane and Andrew had been so close once.

She turned at the knock on the door. Jeannie stopped fussing with her hair and jumped up. "Hi, Daddy!" she rushed to hug him.

"Hi, sweetheart," he leaned in and kissed her cheek, his eyes meeting Kimberly's for a moment then traveling to his son who turned away from the door, fumbling with some papers on a nearby table. Shane cleared his throat. "So, is everything all ready?"

"We just have to sign the discharge papers." Kimberly glanced at Andrew for a moment then back at Shane. "Do you want to find his nurse?"

Shane released Jeannie and looked at Kim. "Would you and Jeannie mind checking?" he asked tentatively. "I'd, uh…" he stopped and Kimberly nodded. He needed some time alone with Andrew.

"Come on, Jeannie Beanie, let's go," she put an arm around her daughter's shoulders and escorted her out of the room.

"I swear!" Jeannie began, "If you ever call me that again in public, I'll..." The door closed on her little tirade, bathing the room in an awkward stillness.

Shane took a step forward, as Andrew stood up and hopped around awkwardly on his crutches, trying to collect the papers and textbooks from the table. "Here. Let me help you."

Shane reached out to him, but Andrew waved him off. "I've got it," he said brusquely.

Shane straightened and took a step back. After a few minutes, he ventured, "I don't suppose I'm being very subtle, asking your mum and Jeannie to give us a few minutes alone." Andrew stood on his good leg, braced himself against the table, and shoved the books into a leather attaché, being sure to keep his back turned. Shane sighed. "Okay, listen. I gave you all the reasons why I think this is best for you, but you're an adult now." He looked down. "So if you'd rather stay at your grandparents'…I won't stop you."

Andrew snorted. "That's just like you. You come barging in here giving orders, then when it starts to make you look bad, you turn right around and act all accommodating. Give me a break!"

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Round one. Care to go for another?" Andrew snapped the attaché closed and flung it on the bed, still refusing to look at his father. Shane pressed on. "I'd say you're well on your way to becoming a first rate lawyer." He moved past the bed and walked to the window. "You know, I don't know if I ever told you, but I was reading law at Cambridge when I got recruited for the ISA." Andrew remained stoically silent. Shane paused, then continued, his voice softer, more contemplative, "I often wonder what would have happened had I turned them down." Feeling somewhat weak after his display of bravado, Andrew inched his way back to the bed and sat down. Shane walked over and sat on the other side, their backs to each other. "I suppose I would have been better off if I had," he said in a quiet voice.

Andrew nodded. "I can't argue with that."

"At last," Shane sighed, "something we agree upon."

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Six weeks," Andrew said suddenly.

Shane turned his head. "Excuse me?"

"I'll give it six weeks. That's how long it's supposed to take for my leg to heal. Besides," he continued earnestly, "I want to know who's behind all this. And someone has to keep an eye on you."

"Fair enough." Shane rubbed his hands together and stood. "I'll, uh, go see what's keeping your mother." Andrew slid back on the bed and stuffed some pillows under his leg. "I'll be back." Shane stepped out into the hallway.

"Oh, Steven, I'm so glad we finally got the chance to talk," Kimberly gushed.

A tall, gangly blond leaned in to hug her. "Good to see you, Kimberly," he said warmly, pulling back from her slightly and readjusting the dark leather patch covering his left eye.

"Good to see _you,_" she smiled, looking up at him.

"Well, well," Shane sauntered over to them. "Stephen Earl Johnson. As I live and breathe."

Steve looked past Kim, sizing him up. "That makes two of us, huh, Donovan?" They hugged briefly; then Steve eyed Shane warily. "If you've got a minute, we need to talk." Shane turned to Kim.

"We're just about done here," she assured him. "I'll get Andrew ready."

He smiled his thanks and followed Steve into the lounge.

"So, what have you got on your mind?" Shane began.

Steve turned to face him. "Oh," he shrugged. "Just this," and he balled up his fist and slugged him, sending him crashing into a group of chairs. Shane put a hand to his jaw, wincing. "That," Steve continued, "was for Kayla." Shane blinked hard for a minute as he stared up at his old friend. Then Steve reached down, offering a hand. Shane hesitated. "And this is, too," said Steve, pulling him to his feet.

Shane coughed, dabbing blood from his upper lip with his shirt sleeve. Remembering their conversation a few years ago in Cincinnati, he mumbled, "I think I liked you better as Nick Stockton."

Steve looked at him. "Yeah, well, some things are better left forgotten, huh?"

"Yeah…" Shane walked to the water cooler and filled a cup. After taking a couple of careful sips, he turned back to Steve. "I suppose I deserved that."

"Yeah, man, you did. But Kayla told me you also took pretty good care of her. I gotta thank you for that."

Shane smiled ruefully, "You're welcome. I _think._"

Steve patted him on the shoulder. "Listen, sorry to, uh…hit and run, but I got places to be. We'll talk shop later."

Shane called after him, "Hey, I need to know what you've heard about --."

"Be patient, _Commander_. Would I leave you hanging?" Steve smiled mischievously and left.

When Shane rejoined his family, Andrew was seated in a wheelchair with his leg up on the metal leg rest, his attaché case in his lap. His eyes grew wide at the sight of his father's swollen jaw.

Kimberly gasped. "What happened?"

Embarrassed, Shane looked down. "It seems this happens whenever your sister is mentioned."

Kim looked away. Though she and Kayla had long since settled matters between them, she felt a sense of satisfaction that Steven couldn't quite put it past him. She cleared her throat to keep from laughing. "We should, uh, get going." Jeannie just stared. Kim took her hand, picked up Andrew's suitcase, and guided her toward the elevators.

As Shane pushed the wheelchair, he could hear his son say under his breath, "Wish _I_ had thought of that."


	9. Chapter 8

_Rome, Italy. Autumn, 1997._

_In the days that followed Kimberly's unexpected appearance on his doorstep, Shane slept long hours and she saw to his every need. Nico hovered nearby. Kim liked him. He was a veteran spy, careful to a fault, but considerate and compassionate – rare qualities in someone who had seen so much. One of his most endearing qualities, however, was his discretion. He would pop in every morning with food for the day, check on his charge, and ask Kimberly if there was anything she lacked, then he would disappear for hours on end, leaving the two of them to while away the hours talking – mostly about Jeannie and Andrew. One day cycled into the next, and Shane grew stronger with each new dawn. Yet, the nights still seemed to hold him captive. Some nights she watched at the door to his bedroom as he tossed and turned, aching to know what had happened to him and how she could help him. But he refused to talk about it. So they settled into a comfortable routine, neither wanting to upset the delicate balance of polite, surface conversations that marked their tentative friendship._

_One sunny afternoon, they were enjoying tea at the small table in the kitchen. Kimberly had opened the windows to let in the fresh air, and they could hear the neighbors arguing and the street noise from below. Shane looked up from the newspaper he was reading and Kimberly caught his eye over the top of her book. "What?" she smiled cautiously. _

_He shifted in his chair. "I hope you don't think I'm prying, Kim, but I've been wondering: why did you and Phillip split up?" _

_She put her book down and busied herself with the teapot. "Would you care for more tea?" _

_He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. _

_She looked up in mid-pour. _

"_You don't have to tell me," he continued. "I mean, we've avoided talking about anything too personal for the past few weeks, and if you'd prefer to keep it that way, I'll understand." _

_She set down the teapot, sighing. "No. I was going to tell you, but, well, you know what happened." She stood up, feeling more comfortable keeping a measured distance between them. _

"_He did treat you well, didn't he?" Shane asked, slight concern coloring his voice. _

"_Yes," she replied. "He did. He was wonderful. Still is." She looked out the window. "I just…We discovered we wanted different things. He was safe for me, secure. That felt nice when I needed it." She paused, and he picked up his spoon and stirred his tea slowly, thinking of how he had left, convinced he was only hurting her, only to find that he'd gone when she seemed to need him most. She turned away from the window and watched him. "But after a while," she continued, "I guess I didn't want something safe and comfortable. I wanted more." _

_He looked up at her. "I can understand that." _

_She took a breath, then asked innocently, "So, have you ever had a relationship like that?" _

_He raised an eyebrow at her. "You know darn well that most of my relationships have been like that. A port in a storm, so to speak, a place to hang my hat." He stood and hobbled to the sofa. His leg, once broken in two places, was finally free of its cast and he was able to get around without the cane most of the time. _

_She began clearing the dishes, grateful for something to do. _

_He sat and propped his leg up on a set of pillows. Then he looked over at her. "I think you were my only real relationship, Kim." _

_She nearly dropped the cup and saucer she was carrying to the sink. She turned on the water and busied herself with rinsing out the teapot, attempting to push the next thought that came to her back where it belonged. But she couldn't avoid it any longer. She turned off the water, wiped her hands on a towel, and looked at him resolutely. "What about my sister? You loved _her_, didn't you?" _

_He didn't know where to begin. He was relieved to finally have the chance to discuss Kayla, but overwhelming feelings of guilt and self-loathing resurfaced as well. "Yes, I did love her...but not in the way you might think." _

"_Oh, I think you made it abundantly clear," she retorted. _

"_Kim, listen..." _

"_You know what?" she interrupted. "Maybe we shouldn't discuss this. We get along fine without talking about it." _

_He exhaled sharply. "No, we don't, Kimberly, and you know it. It's always there, the elephant in the room, the protracted silences, this--this gulf between us. We have to talk about it." _

_She walked purposefully to the chair opposite the sofa and sat on its edge, placing her hands on her knees. "All right then. Let's talk about it." _

_He sighed. "I… I want you to know. I _need_ you to know…" He searched for the right words and, finding none, plunged ahead anyway. "I was devastated when you filed for divorce." _

_She rolled her eyes. "As if you left me any choice." _

_He held up a hand. "Now, wait a minute, just wait. Let me finish." _

_She sat back and crossed her arms. _

_He continued,"I brought it on myself…I know that now, by not believing in you or believing that Jeannie could be mine. I shut you out. But Kim…" His eyes pleaded with her. "I couldn't help it. It just hurt so much to be around you, to be constantly reminded of you with another man...of--of how much I had failed you. I couldn't handle it. I needed someone—" _

_She leaned forward, her green eyes flashing,"You needed someone who saw you as her knight in shining armor...and not as a man with a bitter-edged sword ready to lash out at her, blaming her for his mistakes, for her _own_ mistakes." She stood and, despite her best efforts, her eyes filled with tears, "Don't you realize that this isn't about Kayla?" _

_He pushed himself up and stood to face her. "Kim, she was comfortable and safe. And sometimes I need that, too." _

_"Yes, but…" her voice, once strong and sure, became quiet. "But how could you blame _me_ for needing that? You were gone, and I feared for my life...but what's worse -- he _used_ me, Shane. _He_ used _me…_but you acted like I wanted him to. You blamed me. And not just for Cal; for everything!" _

_He rushed to console her, "Kimberly, let me explain. What I said to you then -- I was upset. There were reasons. I didn't mean --." He reached for her and she recoiled at his touch. _

"_You didn't _mean_ it? Is that what you're saying?" Her voice rose. "You didn't mean to dredge up Lawrence, to imply that I actually _wanted_ him, when you of all people knew what I went through to save Bo's life? And you still blamed me for Victor..." He started to protest, but she cut him off. "Don't deny it. I _know_ you did." She was trembling with the newfound courage it had taken her years to regain. "You gave all those pretty speeches about my past being over and done with, but when it came right down to it...you--" her voice caught in her throat, "even you -- saw me as they did." _

_"No--" he shook his head. _

_She stopped him with a look:"Once a whore, always a whore, is that it, Shane?" No longer able to contain herself, she slapped him with all the strength she could muster. "How could you?!" Then, shocked at the depth of her emotions, she broke away and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. _

_He put a hand to his cheek and felt his whole body contract inward, as if he had been kicked. Her words stung more than any physical blow, especially as he knew what she had said was true. And no amount of explanation on his part could ever make it right. _


	10. Chapter 9

**Shawn and Caroline's home, February, present day**

"Thank you so much for your help, Neil," Kimberly said into her cell phone, as she cleared away the dishes from lunch and set them in the sink. "You always come through for me, my friend." She smiled and picked up a dish cloth, reflecting on how happy she was that Neil and Liz had worked through their differences and remarried six years ago. And, as fortune would have it, they had decided to remain in Los Angeles where Liz had made her home and so that they could both be near their daughter -- just when Kimberly needed her friends the most. "It should only be for a few weeks until Andrew's well enough and we can go home." _Home. _The word sounded strange to her all of a sudden.

"And Shane thinks she'll be safe here?" Neil regretted asking the question, or bringing him into the conversation at all, but he needed to know. When Kim had called him in tears a few weeks ago to say that Shane was alive, he had been shocked but not surprised. One could never quite tell what to expect from Shane Donovan. It was one of the reasons Neil liked him so much, and probably one of the reasons he suspected Kimberly never quite got over him. He didn't dare say that out loud for fear she'd bite his head off. He half expected her to at the mere mention of his name just now.

"Yes," she replied testily. "I've cleared it with Commander Donovan, if that's what you mean."

Neil smiled to himself. "Okay, okay. Just checking. Then we'll meet Jeannie's plane later this afternoon. Chandler will be happy to have her favorite babysitter back, and so will her mother for that matter."

Kimberly smiled. "Please give my best to Noelle. Talk to you soon, g_randpa._"

Neil chuckled. "Take care of yourself, Kim. And…" he hesitated, "Tell him I said hi."

Kim swallowed. "Sure. I'll call you after she boards the plane." They said their good-byes and Kim snapped the phone shut.

"Who was that?" asked Jeannie, as she entered from the side door toting her luggage behind her.

Kim turned. "Oh, just confirming everything with our friend Dr. Curtis. He and Liz will pick you up at the airport."

"I don't see why I have to stay with them," Jeannie whined. "I mean, it's not as if I'm a kid or anything. I can take care of myself."

Kimberly let that one slide. "It's just for a little while."

"Why can't I stay here with you?"

Kim sighed. "You've missed enough school already, and your father and I think…" Another strange word: your _father_. "We think you should be back with your friends. Besides, you'd be bored sticking around here."

"You mean I'd be in the way," Jeannie returned.

Kimberly looked at her. "Do you have everything?" Changing the subject had proven a very useful tool in raising teenagers.

"I think so." Jeannie looked around. "We're going to the house first, right? I think I left something in the guest bedroom when Stephanie and I stayed there last weekend."

"We can stop there," Kim said. "Your father and Andrew are coming to see you off anyway. We can ride together." _Like one big, happy family, _she thought wryly. Just then her parents entered the room and the flurry of good-bye hugs and "I love yous" began. Thank God for Irish hospitality. It could lift the sourest of moods. She smiled.

* * *

**The House**

"Kim." Shane stood in the doorway, folding his arms across his chest as a barrier to the cold. "You could have used your key, you know." Kimberly brushed past him and walked straight through to the living room.

"Hi, Daddy." The sound of his daughter's voice broke his train of thought, and Shane turned to her. She stepped inside and he shut the door, giving her a warm hug.

"Are you ready to go?"

"I want to stay here with you," she said petulantly.

"I know, sweetheart. But it's just for a little while."

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "That's what Mama said. You must share the same brain or something."

Shane laughed. She definitely had her mother's sense of humor. He took her coat. "I thought we were meeting you at the airport."

"I have to pick up something I left upstairs," she said.

Shane glanced at his watch. "Then you'd best get moving."

Jeannie ran upstairs.

Shane took a deep breath before returning to the living room. Kimberly and Andrew were seated on the couch talking quietly. _Speaking of sharing the same brain, _Shane mused. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of them that, not having been with them for so long, struck him anew. They seemed to be on each other's wavelength so much of the time. And right now he got the sense they both hated him. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked quietly.

Kim looked over at him. "Actually, I think I'm the one who's interrupting."

"Mama!" Andrew cut in.

"So, has he decided to tell _you_ who it was?" Shane asked. "Obviously, he doesn't want _me_ to know." He slumped into the chair opposite them.

Andrew pushed himself upright on the sofa and reached for his crutches. "I don't have to listen to this from Mr. Full Disclosure over there."

Kimberly put a hand on Andrew's arm. "I know it's difficult, but if you know who did this to you..." She stopped to take a breath, remembering how close they had come to losing him. "It's important you tell us, Andrew." She squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You want to get to the bottom of this, don't you? We all do." She glanced at Shane, who was clearly losing patience.

Still seated, Andrew leaned on one crutch and stared at the floor a minute. Then he laid the crutch against the side of the sofa and sat back. Kimberly helped him reposition his leg up on the pillows. He looked at his mother. "I can't be a hundred percent positive. It was dark. He broke the streetlight so I wouldn't see him."

Shane looked down for a minute, mentally re-reading the case file and the scribbled notes about broken glass found at the scene. Then he ran a hand over his mouth and leaned forward. "After someone called and said he had some information for you…" He paused. "Information about me…you went down to the pier. Was Uncle Drew there when you arrived?"

Andrew's eyes met his father's for the first time in a while. "Yes." He swallowed hard. "He looked just like you. I thought…"

Shane took a breath. "What did he say?"

Andrew looked down. "He hugged me. He told me he was you..."

"Why didn't you believe him?" Kimberly asked, intrigued. Apparently, her son was as adept at keeping secrets as his father.

Andrew looked over at her. "He didn't ask about you, Mama. Or Jeannie. He just went on about how good it was to see me. He called me 'sport' a lot."

Shane smiled briefly. "You've long since outgrown that nickname."

"Yeah. You stopped calling me that years ago."

A heavy silence set in, then Shane asked reluctantly, "What did he do when he found out you knew it was him?"

"Nothing." Andrew shrugged. "He just laughed. He told me he was testing me, that he knew you were alive, and that I needed to follow him. He'd take me to you."

Shane tensed. "And you refused."

"I told him he needed to show me proof."

Shane stood and walked to the window. He was completely in awe of his son's intelligence and bravery. He had missed him so much these past five years. The thought pierced his heart.

Kimberly took in the unspoken exchange between the two. "Then what happened?" she prodded gently.

Andrew cleared his throat. "He said if I didn't go with him I would regret it."

Shane turned from the window and looked at him. "But he didn't try to force you?"

"No." Andrew looked up at him. "He said that one day I would know what it really meant to be a Donovan. He said that _I_ would come looking for _him_."

"Then why did he try to kill you?" Kim asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

Shane returned to the chair and sat down carefully. "But _he_ didn't, did he?" His eyes searched Andrew's.

Andrew shook his head. "No. He left. Then I heard a crash as someone broke the street lamp, and the next thing I knew…" He stopped.

Kimberly could feel him trembling, and she reached for his hand. "It's okay. You can tell us anything."

Andrew pulled his hand away. "Not this." His voice rose. "I can't tell you this."

Having gathered her favorite scarf and sweater from upstairs, Jeannie skipped down the stairs but stopped midway at the sound of her brother's voice. "You are the _last_ two people on earth who should hear this!" Jeannie sat down on one of the steps, listening intently.

Shane furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Andrew pushed himself up and gathered his crutches.

"Andrew, honey," Kim eyed him quizzically. "We need to know who it was. Why won't you tell us?"

He pulled himself to a standing position and leaned on his crutches. "Listen, I know this is important," he began. "Believe me, I know. I just…"

Shane stood to face him. "Whatever it is, we'll get past it."

"Really?" Andrew's eyes narrowed. "You won't disown us if I tell you? Like you did before, when you thought Jeannie wasn't yours?" Kimberly gasped, as Jeannie's breath caught in her throat.

Shane ran a hand through his hair. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"It was Cal, okay?!" Andrew blurted out. "It was Cal!" His eyes filled with tears. "I couldn't see him very well...but I knew those eyes. I remembered them. It was Cal." He took a shaky breath. "And don't tell me we'll get past it, _Dad._" He glared at him. "You've never been able to get past it. He's the reason you left us!" Shane reached for his arm, but Andrew barreled past him and out into the foyer. He stopped when he spotted Jeannie on the stairs, her eyes questioning.

"Who's Cal?" she asked.


	11. Chapter 10

**Later that evening...**

He couldn't believe he had pulled it off. Lying on the backseat of his father's BMW as they returned from the airport, Andrew closed his eyes and rested his head against the window. He had been lucky his parents were too preoccupied with his revelation about Cal to chase after him. As soon as he saw Jeannie, he knew what he had to do...

_Leaning on one crutch, he motioned to her with his free hand. "Go back upstairs," he whispered urgently. _

"_But…" she began. _

"_I'll tell you later. I_ promise_ Just _go

_Jeannie stood reluctantly to her feet, finding it difficult to wrest her eyes from his. Then she turned and ran up the stairs. _

_Andrew heard a door slam, and he peeked back into the living room, watching his mother lower herself onto the sofa, her eyes fixed straight ahead._

Sitting in the passenger seat now, staring resolutely out the window as the first snowflakes began to fall, Kimberly replayed the afternoon's events in her mind. Hearing Andrew say he had been attacked by Cal had knocked the wind right out of her, leaving her stunned and cold. Why did that man keep turning up to ruin her life? She shivered, remembering how Shane had reached for Andrew...

_She jumped up from the sofa and grasped Shane's arm. "Let him go," she said firmly. She could almost feel every sinew in his body tighten as he fought for control. He turned to face her, and she saw flashes of the anger she had seen in his eyes after he found out about Victor...but there was a significant difference this time. The anger was not directed at her; it was directed inward. He looked away and cursed, then brushed past her and escaped into his office. She settled back onto the sofa, hugging her chest and rubbing her arms against the sudden chill. She sat quietly for several minutes until she spied Andrew out of the corner of her eye. She turned to him and they stared at one another, shell-shocked. Before either could speak, Shane re-emerged from his office, eyeing them both. Kim met Shane's eyes briefly, then stood and walked past Andrew and up the stairs to gather Jeannie. _

The snowflakes grew in thickness and number and began to coat the road and the bare limbs of trees they drove past. Reflecting on the trip to the airport, Kimberly noted how quickly Jeannie had picked up on everyone's mood. She had barely spoken as they said their good-byes, and instead of the usual hug and kiss she reserved for her father, she hadn't even allowed him to touch her. _Maybe I'm reading too much into this,_ Kimberly thought. She glanced furtively over at Shane who was focused intently on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. His jaw was set, and she knew from experience what that meant. This wasn't over.

Shane forced himself to concentrate on his driving. His thoughts tumbled over themselves, as he relived the afternoon's conversation incessantly. The look of fear and anguish in his son's eyes was now permanently etched in his mind, no matter how many times he tried to blink it away. _I should never have let that man near my son_. But how could he possibly have prevented it...then or now? Helplessness was not a feeling he was even remotely comfortable with...

_"Let him go." He heard her say the words and knew instantly it was best to heed her advice, but he had difficulty seeing through the blinding rage that overcame him at the mention of that man's name. _Winters! _he seethed inside_. I should have killed that twisted letch when I had the chance!_ His eyes bored into hers for a moment, then he pulled away, cursed, and rushed to his office. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned against it and shut his eyes. His heart was pounding so strongly he could hear it in his ears.__He bit down hard as he squeezed his hands into fists and stood there composing himself, willing his mind into focus. He opened his eyes and stared at the floor, mentally sifting through faces and names from file after file till he landed upon the right one. He let out a quick breath, then advanced to his desk and picked up the phone, dialing the number by heart. He was not prepared to let him get away again._

The sound of the windshield wipers whipping back and forth snapped Shane's thoughts back to the present. He peered out at the white specks coming at them in the darkness and sighed, then stole a quick look at Kimberly. Her head was turned away from him, and she was fiddling nervously with the belt of her overcoat. This couldn't be easy for her either, he conceded. _What a damn mess!_ The tires screeched to a halt as he pulled into the drive and locked the parking brake. He climbed out of the car and banged his door shut, yanking open the back door.

Andrew sat up. "I've got it."

Shane left the door ajar and marched into the house.

Kimberly helped Andrew gather his crutches, and they followed him in.

"I'm really tired, Mama," Andrew announced as they stepped inside. "I think I'll go to bed."

She helped him off with his coat, then removed her own and shook the light snow from it. She hung them both on a nearby coat tree and turned back to him, putting a hand to his cheek and attempting a reassuring smile. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"So that's it?" Shane stood in the archway to the living room, his hands on his hips. "You drop a bombshell like that and just run away?!"

Kimberly whipped around. "Shane, don't."

Andrew turned to her, gathering his courage. "It's okay, Mama." He hobbled over to his father, then stopped abruptly in front of him, his chest heaving. "You have some nerve accusing _me_ of running away!" He pushed himself up on his crutches till they were eye level with one another. "I'm not the one who's been playing dead for five years. I'm not the one who _keeps_ running away!"

Kimberly watched Shane stiffen and drop his arms to his sides, slowly clenching his fists.

Andrew's dark eyes flashed. "I'm the one who's been here!"

Shane lifted his chin and took a controlled breath. He knew this was coming. It was long overdue. He recalled Shawn and Bo's words to him; then steeled himself against the raw hatred burning in his son's eyes. Still, he was unprepared for the opening salvo.

"_I_ was there when Jeannie was born," Andrew spat out. "I was there," he pointed a finger at him, "when _you_ rejected us and left with Aunt Kayla." He waited for his father to deny it or defend himself, but he remained stoic, saying nothing. "I was there when you abandoned us for your bloody job! And when you disappeared for two years and no one knew where you were." The tears welled up and spilled onto his cheeks, but he fought through them. "I was there when they told Mama and Jeannie you were dead, when...when they told us how brave and honorable you were...and they lowered an empty casket into the ground…" He was sobbing openly now. "I was there when we buried you..."

Kimberly leaned toward him, longing to go to him but restraining herself. She knew he had to do this. He had carried the weight of his family alone for too long. It was more than a boy of his age should have been asked to bear.

"I was there!" Andrew shouted. "I was _always_ there!" His voice broke, but he garnered what remaining strength he had and cried out, "Where were _you?!"_

They stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity to Kimberly. The silence was deafening. Her eyes had been riveted to her son throughout the exchange, as if she could prop him up with a single look. But when she allowed her eyes to drift over to Shane, she was shocked by what she saw. His whole demeanor had changed. He appeared sunken, tired…weak. She watched him blink away tears and struggle with his emotions. Then he whirled round and retreated to the living room. With tears streaming down her face, she reached for Andrew.

"No, Mama," he said in a ragged whisper. "Not now." He limped away.

She watched him go through the back of the living room to the studio and heard the door slam. She wiped at her tears and took a deep breath; then crept toward the living room. Shane stood leaning an arm on the edge of the mantle, his back to her, his head bent as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his other hand. She knew this was killing him. Her mind wandered back to a lowlit bedroom in Rome and she heard the regret in his voice, felt the tears he had shed. But that was then. There were new hurts to atone for, five years of pent-up pain for which he alone was responsible.

He couldn't look at her. He turned and knelt in front of the fireplace, stirring the ashes of the previous night's blaze. He could sense her anger from across the room. _She has every reason to hate me_, he thought sullenly. _They all do._ He busied himself with preparations for a new fire to distract his mind from where it would inevitably go -- if he let it.

Neither spoke for several agonizing minutes. He wanted to avoid this conversation. She didn't know where to begin.

"I've turned it over and over in my mind, Shane," she said finally. "Why...when you said that Andrew and Jeannie were so important to you, why didn't you at least call, mail a letter, a postcard – anything, just to let us know? Why did you let us go on believing a lie?" She took a deep breath to slow her heart pounding in her chest.

The sparks of a new fire crackled and blinked in the hearth and he straightened. She could see him visibly tense up. Then, in one swift motion, he swung round and looked at her, but said nothing.

She shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense to me. You just disappeared. The man I knew would have moved heaven and earth to be with his children. And for a while…you did just that. At times, it seemed nearly impossible, but you did it -- a phone call, a quick weekend away, that year with Andrew... No matter how far away you were or how difficult the circumstances, you fought hard to be a part of their lives." She lowered her voice and looked down. "And I loved you for that."

The tears pricked at his eyes, but he stood there, listening intently, taking in every word.

"I know someone or something must have prevented you from contacting us for a while," she continued. "And I know you won't tell me about it now because you believe you're protecting me." She glared at him. "But who are you really protecting, Shane?" Her eyes searched his. "Why has your _damn job_ always been more important than them?" _Than me?!_ she screamed inside.

When he could no longer bear the look in her eyes, he turned away.

She let out an exasperated sigh, then walked to the French doors, gazing out at the brick archways over the garden, what had once been _her_ garden. "I didn't believe them when they said you were gone. In fact, given what I could piece together at the time, it was more plausible to me that you would fake your own death."

He almost gasped out loud at how well she knew him, even from so far away. He looked over at her, longing to take her in his arms and tell her everything. And he knew he would…one day soon. But not now.

She drew a breath. "But then I thought: that would be giving up. Shane Donovan wouldn't just give up like that. And if he did, if he suddenly found he had no other option, he would have told me."

His jaw twitched and he cast his eyes downward.

She turned to face him. "And your children needed you. They needed their father." Her voice caught, "How could you _do_ that to them?"

His eyes found hers again. She expected him to respond, to throw something, to storm out. But he remained silent, looking at her bravely, feeling every blow as it hit him.

She brushed away her tears, looking out as the snow swirled around darkened trees. After a few minutes, she continued quietly, "When the children were sick or they were teased or their friends let them down. When they were growing into adults and they had questions or they…they were missing you," she paused, then turned to look at him, putting a hand to her chest. "_I_ was the one who was there for them. _Me_ and no one else!"

He swallowed hard, searching her face as if memorizing it.

She dropped her arm to her side. "And the funny thing is I assumed that you of all people would be there, steady as a rock, during those times...After all we'd been through with Andrew and Eve and…" her voice trailed off as she thought of those dark days and the loss of their baby girl.

He looked down as he remembered. He had let her down then, too, but at least it had been within his power to try and make it up to her.

"I thought I knew you, Shane," she said forlornly. "I guess I was wrong. We were all wrong. And I can never forgive you for what you did to them."

"Or to you," he said meekly.

She stared at him, then took a quivering breath. "We were talking about the children."

He thrust his hands in his pockets and fought to maintain control. His anger at himself threatened to boil over and he longed to throw something or leave -- something, anything to ease the pain of that realization. But he also knew that self-loathing had been the source of all his mistakes in the past, the very reason he had lashed out at Kim after the divorce, the reason for so much of the hurt he had caused everyone. But this? The past five years? His absence from the lives of those he loved most on this earth? Anger had nothing to do with that at all. He looked at her. Nevertheless…"Then let's talk about the children, shall we?" he said. "Let's talk about how I could possibly call myself their father." His eyes glistened. Running both hands through his thick, wavy hair, he broke away from her and began to pace the room. "I mean, what sort of man would leave his children like that? Would let them believe he was _dead?_" He stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of father wouldn't want to be there for their birthdays, family outings, holidays…would willingly miss their school plays and rugby matches…miss hearing about their friends, their triumphs, their heartbreaks…miss being there for them when they fell ill…or--or when they were feeling alone or afraid…?" His voice broke, and he moved to the French doors opposite her, rubbing the back of his neck, still avoiding her gaze. "What kind of a man _does_ that?" He drew a shaky breath and, looking out at the garden, carried on in a more desperate tone, "What sort of excuse for a human being would let their mother believe he was dead when he knew how much she needed him?" He couldn't look at her. "What kind of coward would leave you to raise his children alone?"

She was stunned by his admission and didn't know what to do with it. To be honest, she couldn't have said it better herself. And now, despite all the years of hurt, anguish, and bitterness toward this man, the one man who had let her down so completely, she longed to reach out and comfort him. "Shane..." She took a step toward him.

He swung round and looked at her. She could see something deep within his eyes. It was something that hadn't been there before – a despair and hopelessness she had never seen. He was lost, set adrift. "No, Kimberly. I don't deserve forgiveness from you or anyone else." He strode abruptly out of the room, picking up his coat and keys and slamming the front door behind him.

She could hear his car peel out of the drive and roar off into the snowy night. She walked slowly to the sofa and collapsed onto it, staring at the fire as the tears stung her eyes. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest, remembering what it felt like to forgive.


	12. Chapter 11

_Rome, Italy. Autumn, 1997._

_Crash. She sat up in bed, blinking in the darkness. She reached for her silk robe and climbed out of bed, squinting to see the time on the bedside clock. Two a.m. She heard muffled grunts and the creak of the floor boards in the next room and realized that he was up again. This was the third night in a row. She had done her best to remain distant since their argument a few days before, letting the dust settle, trying not to let him see how very much revisiting what he had said all those years ago still affected her. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She couldn't do it another night. She couldn't sit alone in her room and listen to him suffer through another episode and not do anything. She switched on a lamp and, pulling her white robe around her and tying the sash, she made her way to the darkened hallway. _

_The door to his bedroom stood ajar, and she could see his shadow against the dim table lamp on the far side of the room. She crept toward the door. He was kneeling, pushing shards of a broken water glass into a wicker waste bin with a cloth. He stopped, dropping the bin and cloth on the floor and leaning back against the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing constricted. She pushed her way through the door and crouched beside him, reaching up and touching his temple tentatively. His eyes flickered open for a moment. "Kim." He inhaled sharply and his body grew rigid; he shut his eyes again, attempting to extinguish the burning light that seemed to fill his head. _

_"Shh." She stroked his arm, then took his hand and squeezed it. "Tell me what to do." _

_He squeezed her hand back, fighting through the pain in his temples that ran down his neck and into his shoulders. The room spun around him and he braced himself with his other hand and pushed his head back against the sturdy bed. She ran a hand over his forehead and down his cheek and neck to his shoulder. Then she got up, grabbed a hardcover book from the table and pushed the broken glass out of the way with it. She moved to his other side, as his breathing slowed and his shoulders relaxed slightly. She sat beside him and reached up to massage the base of his neck. _

_He turned to her, opening his eyes. He started to speak, but she cut him off. "Can you get up? Maybe if we got you up on the bed…" He took her hand. "Come on." She helped him as he stood shakily to his feet. _

_She positioned the pillows against the wall behind him so he could lie back and rest against them. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and began massaging his neck and shoulders. He let out a long, slow breath, as his muscles loosened and the tension began to melt away. She continued the massage and neither spoke for a long while. _

_Then his breathing slowed and became regular. He reached up and touched her hands, and she stopped her ministrations. He turned to face her, still holding her hands, and opened his eyes, staring deep into those oceans of sea green he so desperately longed for in times like these. She watched him as he released her hands, then traced her cheek and chin gently with one finger. He leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands. Their eyes remained locked together in a slow, languid dance. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. "Everything about you is beautiful." Then he kissed her – softly at first, barely brushing her lips, his dark eyes still searching hers, until she wrapped her arms around his neck, their eyes closed, and they fell into each other with a deep sigh. _

_The kiss was long, slow, and all-consuming. It was at once an echo of the past, a distant but familiar memory, and the igniting of a newer, stronger, more palpable fire between them than either knew the meaning of as yet. She gasped as, lacing his hand through her hair, he pulled her head back and traced an invisible line up her neck to her ear with feathery kisses. She let herself get lost in the moment, pulling him ever closer, feeling the sweet sensations only he could awaken in her. Her lips found his again, and he moaned, pushing her back against the softness of the bed linens and running a hand down her thigh. Then suddenly and without warning, their argument from days before echoed in her head and she opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, willing the painful memory of his accusations from so long ago to fade, but it wouldn't. _

_She put a hand to his chest and pushed him back, struggling to sit up. "No, Shane. Stop." _

_He sat up, blinking, his eyes questioning, but released her. She propped herself up with one arm and made an attempt to pull her robe about her with the other. He covered her trembling hand with his own and looked at her. "Kim—" _

_She pulled away from him, moving to the other side of the bed and draping her legs over it, her back to him. _

_He leaned his head against the wall and sighed. Then his breath caught in his chest, as he saw her shoulders begin to shake. He reached out to touch her and she brushed him away, wiping stubbornly at the tears she hadn't wanted to shed. He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Kimberly." _

_She covered her mouth with a hand, then took a breath. "No...I want you, too. It's just—" _

"_I don't mean about what just happened." He leaned toward her. "_I'm sorry_." He paused, his words resonating in the quiet room. "I've hurt you beyond repair, haven't I?" Her silence confirmed it, and he winced. "And the reasons for my actions, for saying those hateful things to you...I don't suppose they matter now." He looked down, sorting through his jumbled thoughts, trying to articulate what it had taken him years to even partly understand. "I don't know exactly how to explain it. I'm not clear on so many things..." He cleared his throat. "When I returned to Salem eight years ago and regained my memory...or thought I did..." He ran a hand over his mouth. "For some reason, I only remembered certain aspects -- about you, about our relationship -- and...I blocked out others."_

_She turned her head slightly, still unable to look at him, listening intently to the somber tenor of his voice and the unfamiliar strains of introspection she heard in it. _

_He rubbed the base of his neck. "Looking back on it now, I guess I didn't want to remember anything about my past, my actions where you were concerned. I didn't want to face the hard truth about everything, about myself..." He recalled how the memories had come flooding back in flashes in that damp, windowless room several months ago. He closed his eyes and visualized her tear-stained face, heard the desperation in her voice: _"Everything I did is because I love you!" _He saw Victor, he saw Andrew...he saw Prescott and Jericho...and Cal...He felt his legs go out from under him in the blinding light of an explosion...He heard tires screeching...envisaged Kim lying helpless in a hospital bed. Then his mind skipped ahead and he could see his brother...and the face of his unknown interrogator in that blackened cell. _

_She kept her head bent, staring at the worn, wooden floor, waiting for him to continue and sensing there was more he wasn't telling her. Over the years, she had wondered how it was possible for him to keep so much bottled up inside: his life before he met her, his parents, his brother; he never spoke of them. He kept that part of his life carefully hidden. He had been trained to compartmentalize his feelings and attachments, to deal only in facts and figures, in strategy and blueprints and code. Lying beside him some nights when they were married, watching him as he slept -- his eyes shifting, swept up in a dream -- she had considered how best to approach him about his past. But, she admitted, it had been easier just to let him forget._

_His heart was beating rapidly now and, with great effort, he pushed the memories of his capture back into the inner recesses of his mind; then opened his eyes, refocusing on her. "I didn't want to even think about what it must have been like for you...It was just easier at the time to ignore anything...or anyone...that forced me to remember..." He stopped, measuring his words. "Not better, not right...just easier. Easier for me anyway." _

_She nodded, hugging her arms tightly about her._

_He took a deep breath. "Later, I could console myself with the knowledge that you were better off without me, that as long as you and the children were as far away from me as possible you were safe." His voice grew quiet and he wrinkled his brow. "But to treat you like that? To say what I said to you, to accuse you of…of…" He couldn't finish. "What I remembered and didn't remember about my past is no excuse..." He was tired of excuses. "I'm ashamed of the man I was then. I said things to you I can never take back. I deliberately lashed out at you when deep down I knew...I _knew _I was the one responsible for putting you in harm's way in the first place!" He pounded the bed with his fist, then, recovering himself, concentrated on smoothing out the imprint it left behind. "I just couldn't admit it. I couldn't even think of it." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, "And I'll never be able to forgive myself."_

_New tears formed in her eyes and she turned to him, shaking her head reflexively, "No, Shane. Don't. You can't blame yourself--"_

"_I can't?" He stopped her with a look. "I was a bloody selfish fool, Kim, and you know it," he said sternly. "For God's sake, don't try to make me feel better about it! You were right. I condemned you for my own failings, my inability to keep you safe, the wrong decisions _I _had made. I had this thick-headed notion that _you_ had wronged _me."

_She stared at him, taken aback by his vehement confessions, but feeling herself retreating, distancing her heart from the piercing reality of his words, escaping back into herself where no one could touch her. She took a shaky breath and bit her lip, turning away from him again._

_He sighed heavily, rushing to get it all out in the open -- more for his own sake than for hers. "When circumstances prevented us from being together or my blasted job put you in a difficult or dangerous position...somehow, because I was powerless to protect you and had no control over the situation, instead of facing my own limitations, I blamed you!" He ran a hand hastily through his hair. "And the things I said to you… As if I had any right…" He shuddered. "I don't want to revisit it all again. I've had plenty of time alone in a dark cement-block room to think about it." He stared at the back of her head, redirecting his thoughts, fixing them once more on her. "And all I can say is that I was wrong, so very wrong. It's not your fault, Kimberly." He wavered a minute, then continued bitterly, "It's mine. Every last bit of it. I couldn't protect you, and I blamed _you_ for that. It was selfish and cruel...and you deserve better." He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she bowed her head, crying softly into her hand. _

_His eyes glimmered with tears. "You were all alone." He was surprised at his own words, that he hadn't realized it before now. "I wasn't there to protect you." His heart broke as he watched her struggle with the memories and the pain. "I could keep diplomats and perfect strangers from harm, but you...I couldn't...I couldn't help _you_. God, I wish..." He closed his eyes, then rubbed the tears from them and looked at her. "I'm so sorry I left you alone." He reached across the bed, taking her shoulders in his hands, and turned her slowly to face him. He lifted her chin with his finger and gazed into her eyes. "I'm sorry they hurt you, my love...that I let them hurt you." He brushed a tear from her cheek. "It's not your fault." He felt her tense up, and for the first time he saw it in her eyes -- he truly saw how afraid she had been, the years of suffering, the depths of her loneliness. "It's not your fault, Kimberly." He reached down and took her hand in his. "It never was," he added gently. "Never." _

_Instantly, she knew what he meant; still, she fought to maintain her resolve, the wall that had kept her isolated and safe -- or so she thought -- for most of her life. But now, lost in his harmonizing eyes, she found herself unable to look away and she finally let go, dissolving into sobs. _

_He reached out and caught her, pulling her tightly to him. "I'm so sorry, darling." He kissed her forehead and stroked her golden hair, rocking her back and forth. _

_She clung to him, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel like that scared, vulnerable little girl crying out for someone, anyone to hear her and understand._

"_I'm sorry…" he whispered, kissing the top of her head. She buried her face in his chest and he took a halting breath, finally giving in to his own tears; they mingled with hers. "I'm so sorry..."_


	13. Chapter 12

_Rome, Italy. Autumn, 1997._

_Nico leaned forward conspiratorially. "And San Pietro says...'" He peered over the kitchen counter at Kimberly. "'Up here, we work by results. While you preached, people slept; while he drove, people prayed.'" _

_Kimberly's melodic laughter swept the apartment as Shane stepped gingerly past the suitcase in the hallway and patted Nico on the back."Not that old joke again, my friend." _

"_I love a good American joke. Italian jokes always involve going to confession or something." _

_Shane raised an eyebrow and Kimberly smirked at him. "I don't know." She adopted a lyrical brogue. "We Irish spend a great deal of time fussing about our troubles to the good father." _

_Nico's amber eyes twinkled. "Yes, but you have not actually done anything wrong." _

_Kimberly laughed and threw a piece of diced carrot at him. _

_Shane held up his hands and smiled. "I'm not getting in the middle of this." He strolled over to the balcony doors, pushing the curtains aside and peeking out onto the busy street below. _

_Kim watched him for a moment, then turned back to Nico. "Won't you stay for lunch?" _

_"_Grazie,_ but I cannot." He waved her off. "I must go if I am to take you to the airport later, yes?" _

_Shane turned to Kim; all merriment vanished from her eyes. "Yes. You're right," she said softly. _

"_It has been a pleasure, signora." Nico reached for her hand and kissed it. "I shall miss you." _

"_And I'll miss you," she returned with an easy smile. _

_Nico glanced at Shane, then made his way to the door. "I shall return in a few hours." Shane nodded to him and an awkward silence set in as he exited the apartment. _

_Shane focused on the ornate Persian rug at his feet. _"_So…you're really going." _

_Kim sprinkled the carrots into the salad bowl and gathered the rest of the utensils and bowls, placing them on the table methodically. "We talked about this. I need to get home to Andrew and Jeannie." _

_He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yes, you do," he confirmed. "But we haven't finished our discussion." _

_"I think we have." _

_He lifted his head and rolled his eyes. "Kimberly—" _

"_I told you what I found out in Prague. I even know that all this involves Drew somehow, because he followed me nearly everywhere I went while I was there." _

_He recalled her telling him of the various Czech, German, and Hungarian men she had encountered while following Peachy's leads -- how each character had the same build, and rather busy hands. He fled before she could call him to the carpet on it at the British consulate, but she knew it was him. What Shane didn't know is why he had been following after Kimberly in person when he could just as easily have sent a non-descript ghost of an informant to report back to him. He probably enjoyed the sport of it all…or, it suddenly occurred to Shane, he had hoped to distract her._

"_I've told you everything I know," she continued, the exasperation in her voice beginning to bleed through. "About what Agent Lukacs told me...how he hadn't seen these tactics employed since the AVO secret police when he was a boy." She sat at the table in a huff and began dishing out pasta. "How even at the highest levels of the ISA they chose not to search for you -- deliberately looked the other way. That they were hoping you'd just disappear." Her voice grew shakier. "And he refused to tell me why." She shoved the serving spoon back into the pasta stiffly. "I saw Agent Lukacs's face, Shane. He was afraid to even speak to me about it." She stared straight ahead. "He warned me not to pursue it any further." Shane walked to the table and put a hand on the back of her chair, looking down on her with watchful eyes. "I told you Chief Tarrington was in on it." She lifted her head, challenging him with a look. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" His eyes gave her silent affirmation. "And you still won't tell me a thing!" Her breath left her in a sudden rush of air. "You won't tell me what they did to you, who they are or what they want from you...if the children are in danger or..." He stepped back as she stood abruptly, dishes clattering, and pushed away from the table. _

_"Kim..." He exhaled sharply as she brushed angrily past him_. _"I told you: they're after me, not you. As long as I stay away, or appear to, you and the children should be fine." He bit down hard. "I can't tell you anything more. I just can't." He leaned on the table for a moment, fixing his eyes on it but not seeing. "But I promise you. If I even suspect the children are in danger, you'll be the first to know." He turned to her. "I'll do anything to keep you safe."_

_Her back to him, she folded her arms neatly in front of her. "And what about you?" she ventured quietly. "Are they trying to kill you? Is that what they want?" She turned her head slightly, refusing to look at him for fear of betraying her true feelings. "Do you even know?"_

_"No. I don't know," he conceded bitterly, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He reached up and rubbed his temple anxiously. "I need time to figure it all out." He opened his eyes, regarding her carefully. "Kim...will you give me that time?" He took a step toward her. "Will you let me handle this my way and stay out of it?"_

_She moved to the balcony doors and peered through muslin curtains at the overcast day. She hadn't set foot outside in weeks. Soon she would leave this secret haven and step back into reality -- an increasingly lonely place; for, someone or a group of someones was determined to erase him from her life forever. The realization hit her with new forcefulness. _

_"Answer me, Kimberly," he demanded. "I need you to promise me you'll not follow up on what you know."_

_Her eyes traveled over the square, stolid buildings before her and up to the thick, tumbling clouds blanketing the city. "So, we just carry on as usual, huh?" she asked the gray air. "Like nothing's wrong," she shook her head despondently. "Oh, you're just running for your life, that's all. No big deal in the spy game, right?" Her voice dropped. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now."_

_He furrowed his brow. "Kim..."_

_"But I'm not. I don't ever want to get used to it." She turned to him, her eyes brilliant with tears. "I need to know what's going on." She drew an unsteady breath, then plunged ahead. "Tell me, Shane. Maybe I can help you."_

_"Kim, no..." _

_"Maybe Roman or Bo..._

_"No...no, no." _

_"Or John can help--"_

_His eyebrow shot up. "Kimberly, no!" He watched her stiffen at his all-too-familiar tone. "I can't tell you anything more. What will it take for you to finally understand that?!"_

_She swallowed hard and licked her lips. "But there has to be something we can do," she continued. "I can't just stand by and do nothing! There has to be a way to--"_

_"No, Kim!" His chest heaved. "There is no other way. I won't put you and the children in danger. I just won't!" _I'll not take that chance again, _he resolved. "And right now," he advanced on her. "Right now, if I told you what I know, which unfortunately isn't all that much, but _if _I told you..." He grasped her shoulders firmly, his eyes growing dark and cold. "What would you do with that information, hmm? Just what exactly would you do? You already risked your life by going to Prague. I am _not_ going to let you do that again." He glared down at her. "You ask too many questions for your own good, Kimberly!" _

_Hearing echoes of her mother's words to her as a child, she jerked away from him. "But you seem to be forgetting that those questions have saved lives a time or two over the years, _Captain_!" She met his thunderous gaze evenly, their eyes caught up in a duel that lasted several minutes. _

_He watched then as she turned and paced back to the kitchen. _

"_You know what your problem is?" She whirled round to face him. "You don't know how to accept help. You think you can do everything by yourself." She crossed her arms. "Captain Shane Donovan -- the best the ISA has to offer. You'd be nothing without this job and you'd be lost if you didn't have full control over every situation." She scoffed. "But you want to know the irony of it all? You don't have _any_ control. Someone is controlling _you_ for a change, and you're still banging your head against the wall trying to figure a way out. And in the meantime, you do what you've always done: you push me and everyone who cares about you away and try to rationalize it by saying what you're doing is noble, that you're protecting us." She lifted her chin. "You know what I think? I think you're afraid." She gestured widely with a hand. "The great Shane Donovan is afraid!" _

"_You're damn right I'm afraid!" he shot back with more force than he'd intended._

_She jumped._

_He lowered his voice. "You would be, too, after what…" He took a short breath. "After what they, how they…" he stammered, unable to get the words out. Her eyes softened at his obvious discomfort, but he quickly recovered himself. "And your problem is you're not afraid _enough_. You rush headlong into everything, hoping it will all work out okay. But sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes there are no answers to your questions...or there's no one left to ask because they've all been killed and you still haven't uncovered why!" He whipped round and slammed his fist against the wall, narrowly missing the glass doors. _

_She drew back a moment, then approached him quietly. _

_He kept his hand on the wall and leaned against it, his back to her. "And until I know how big this thing is and the reasons behind what they're doing…you're right. I won't tell you. Whether you like it or not, you are not a professional, and you would be in more danger if you knew. You and the children are all that matter to me. I won't lose you. Not like this." _

_She touched his shoulder gently. "But don't you see? You already have."_

* * *

_Nico picked up her suitcase and promised to meet her below. He shut the door quietly behind him, and she glanced around the small studio with finality. Cinching up her white trench coat, she adjusted her purse around her shoulder. "I guess this is it." _

_He took a deep breath and removed his hands from his pockets, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "I'll, uh," he cleared his throat. "I'll let Peachy know a good time for me to see the children. I'm not exactly sure where we'll meet, but I'll work something out soon." _

_She nodded. _

"_Kim…" He took a step toward her. "Promise me you'll stay out of this."_

_Her eyes flashed an icy shade of light green in a valiant effort to challenge his decision one last time._

_"Please..." he pleaded. "This is something I have to do alone. I can't concentrate on what I need to do if I'm worried about you and the children. Please, Kim. Promise me."_

_Thinking of Andrew and Jeannie, she drew a solemn breath. "All right, all right," she closed her eyes in defeat. "I promise." _

_"Thank you." She could feel his piercing eyes upon her; she met his gaze bravely till he wrested his eyes from hers and glanced heavenward._

_He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Oh, Kimberly." He moved in closer, placing a hand on her shoulder and rubbing it with his thumb. "I want you to know..." His eyes settled on hers again. "No matter what happens from here on out, I'll always lov--" _

"_Don't say it." She put a finger to his lips, her eyes shimmering. "I know. Just don't say it." _

_He kissed her fingertips, then took her hand, rested his cheek against it, and closed his eyes, drawing as much strength as he could in the waning moments of her presence. _

_She gently pulled her hand away. "Be safe, huh?" _

_He touched her cheek. "I will." _

_She bit her lip, blinking away tears. "Good-bye, Shane." Then she turned slowly and put a hand to the doorknob. _

_He reached round her suddenly and grasped her hand, pulling her back against him and wrapping her in his arms. She closed her eyes as he buried his face in her hair and kissed her neck. She could feel his warm breath on her ear as he whispered, "Good-bye, my love" and let her go._


	14. Chapter 13

**Salem, Donovan House, Present Day**

_She could smell the heady aroma of freshly cut flowers. Roses. Dozens and dozens of roses -- and not just any roses. They were a rare light ash pink, like the first rose Shane had given her in England. She recalled her surprise at seeing the spring flowers arrayed like a blushing still life in the boutique window. She had inquired after them, only to be told someone had purchased nearly all of them less than an hour before. She remembered buying one of the remaining blooms as a birthday treat for herself and treading the short distance back to her hotel in the summer heat. Paris in July, the summer season. The city was deserted -- and hot. Hot and sticky and not at all where she wanted to be on that particular day. "It's only for a few days," Helene had pointed out to her. "You are more than welcome to return to Nice and enjoy a real vacation after you've dazzled the Left Bank literati with your divine pictures."_

_It was Kimberly's first photography book, and she was immensely proud of it. It had taken five years of painstaking work to compile and annotate. Some of the black and whites were over twenty years old and harked back to a life that seemed foreign to her now. It had helped her greatly to focus on the project following Shane's...disappearance. His funeral had made it final; yet, almost two years later, she still couldn't bring herself to say the word._

_She crossed the narrow alley, catty-corner to the fence-rimmed park, dotted with sun-dappled trees and a small running fountain. Europe, especially Paris, produced mixed feelings in her, even now._

_Click, click, click. _

_In her mind, Kimberly heard the clatter of the rickety old lift as she took it to the third floor, walked the slim hallway, and inserted the gold key in the lock. She opened the door to her elegantly furnished little room. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through latticed windows. Roses. They were everywhere. Delicate pale pink roses..._

She opened her eyes, clearing the filigrees of her dream away and gradually returning to the present. She sat up in bed and glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. She never slept in this late. It must be the room-darkening shades in the guest bedroom. That, and the fact she had stayed up half the night waiting for Shane to return...which he never did. She reflected on their conversation from the night before. She kept seeing that look in his eyes, like he'd been done in. _No, Kimberly. I don't deserve forgiveness from you or anyone else._ She wondered if he _had_ actually given up and what could have possibly made him do so. Then her thoughts drifted to Andrew. She got up, dressed, and went in search of him. Before descending the stairs, she peeked into the master bedroom. Shane's bed hadn't been slept in.

She could hear a muffled voice downstairs. "I know, I know." Andrew was seated on the sofa in the living room, cell phone in hand, as Kimberly entered. He looked up at her and smiled. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks. Take care." He hung up as Kimberly came to sit beside him. "Paul says hi," he began, preempting her question.

She nodded. "How's he doing?"

"Andrea was taken ill again a couple days ago. They had to rush her to the emergency room and intubate her." Andrew sighed. "And I thought_ I_ had problems."

Kimberly reached for his hand. Andrea was Paul and Lisa's youngest. They had adopted her just over a year ago. Kimberly had always known Paul Stewart to be a wonderful man. After leaving Salem, he relocated his contracting business to Colorado and fell in love with a beautiful, young architect from Aspen. Andrea was the second child with special needs they had adopted, and they had two boys of their own besides. They were truly wonderful people -- a good reality check and source of inspiration for her and her children when they needed it. And Kimberly had kept her promise to Paul that, like an adopted son, Andrew would always be a part of his life.

"What advice did he give you?" she asked gently.

"Mama..." His tone of voice told her all she needed to know. Paul must have said something he didn't like, or wasn't yet prepared to hear.

"So," Kimberly chirped, "have you eaten breakfast?"

He rolled his eyes. "I think I can manage a little toast and jam."

"Good, because that's about all I can manage." She winked at him.

Andrew smiled. She could be so self-deprecating. He never understood why. In reality, she was quite accomplished at whatever she set her mind to. She just never had the time to devote to cooking.

"I'll grab something quick before I go to Mom and Pop's to change." She stood and started for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"

"Mama?"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"Why don't you move in here?" he ventured. "I mean, with Jeannie gone..."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she began slowly.

"Why not? It's not like he can object." Andrew looked around. "Where is he, by the way?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure your father will be back soon. Probably some business to take care of."

"_Big _surprise there."

"Stop it." She tossed him a hard look.

The strength of her response startled him, but he knew not to push it.

"Andrew..." she sat back down. "When did you start playing rugby? It wasn't until college, right?"

"Okay. Major non sequitur there, Ma."

She smiled. "Just indulge me, _counselor_. It's something I'm trying to figure out."

He thought for a minute. "Yeah. I guess that's about right. Some of the guys convinced me to try it my freshman year. I didn't think I'd like it as much as soccer, but..."

"That's what I thought." _What kind of father would willingly miss their school plays and rugby matches..._ How had he known? she wondered. And, come to think of it, Jeannie hadn't acted in her first play until last year. Peachy could have filled him in, she supposed.

Andrew leaned forward, waving a hand in front of her face. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

She looked over at him and smiled. "Nowhere. Just thinking. Dangerous past time, I know."

"You know I've always been against it," he returned, elbowing her playfully. Then he sighed. "Will you at least think about moving in here with me?" His eyes pleaded with her. "I could use the company."

She tickled the toes poking out from his cast. "Okay, okay. We'll see." She stood and headed for the back hallway but stopped when she heard the front door.

Shane entered the foyer, followed closely by Steve and a group of men carrying computer equipment and armfuls of wire and electrical devices. "In through there," Shane instructed them, pointing past the living room to the alcove off to its side. "You remember where, Stan? Let me know if you need anything."

The bespectacled Stan nodded. "It should be a pretty straightforward install, Commander. We'll be out of your hair in a jiff." He joined his men. Andrew watched as they paraded through the living room and disappeared into the office.

Kimberly met Steve in the foyer. "Morning, Kimberly." He moved in to hug her.

"Hi, Steven." She exchanged a wary look with Shane. "What's all this?"

Steve clapped Shane on the back. "The commander here has been reinstated. You can't stay dead forever," he continued. "I should know." He smirked and walked through to the living room to greet Andrew.

Shane turned to her. "I found out this--"

"When did you find out?"

He looked down awkwardly. "I'm sorry. You first."

"No." She motioned to him. "You go ahead."

He ran a hand over his mouth. "They, uh, told me the news this morning. It's just a formality, really." He raised his head. "I thought you'd be at your parents'."

"I slept here," she said quietly. "I wanted to make sure..." her voice trailed off and she gestured behind her. "To make sure Andrew was all right."

"Is he?" he asked, knitting his brow with concern.

"I think he'll be fine."

He let out a slow breath. "Good." After a few minutes of silence, he smiled tentatively at her. "Thanks for staying."

She returned the smile. "You're welcome."

"Well, I'd better get..." he pointed toward the living room.

"Oh. Sure." She took a step, and he took a step, and they bumped into each other. "Excuse me," she said softly.

He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Sorry." He let go of her.

"That's all right," she chuckled nervously.

Their eyes met and lingered.

Discomfited by the weight of his stare, she looked down a moment. "I'm headed for the kitchen," she announced. "Can I get you and Steve anything?" She slowly raised her eyes to his. "Maybe a little English breakfast tea?"

He cocked his head to one side. "I think Steve would prefer coffee."

"Oh." She glanced in Steve's direction. "Yes. Of course."

He stepped back and swept an arm in front of her. "Ladies first."

"Thank you, sir." She grinned despite herself and passed in front of him. He watched her step through the living room to the back hallway, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled over to Steve.

"Duty calls." Steve got up from the couch and looked at Shane. "I guess we should talk privately?"

Shane paused, considering: "I'd like Andrew to hear this," he said, eyeing his son. "That's if you have no objections."

Determined to appear unaffected, Andrew shrugged nonchalantly. Steve sat down, and Shane positioned himself in the chair opposite.

"Well," Steve began, "my contact in Johannesburg confirmed it. She's dead."

Shane sighed heavily. "I figured. Do we know when it happened?"

"Around four months ago."

"Just before I was attacked," Andrew piped in.

"Yes," Shane responded, grateful to know Andrew's curiosity was still strong enough to win out over any other emotion he was feeling.

"Do you think there's a connection?" Steve asked Shane.

"Could be."

"Who are we talking about?" Andrew asked.

Shane looked at him. "Do you remember Eve's mother Gabrielle?"

Andrew nodded. "Sort of."

"Well, she and Eve were last seen together in South Africa. She was working on a case there. Eve must have tagged along." He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "What I can't figure out is why now. What would suddenly render her a liability to the organization?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe she had something on him. From what I could find out about your brother, he doesn't exactly inspire loyalty. His whole operation is riddled with thugs and ex-ISA agents who would turn against him in a New York minute for the right amount of cash." Steve eyed him pointedly, "I guess you found that out the hard way."

Shane returned his knowing look, but responded, "Actually, I'm not certain it was one of his operatives who found me out. It would have required too much handling...and connections beyond the average duffer's pay grade to arrange for Drew's release."

Feeling like he'd been dropped in the middle of an ongoing conversation, Andrew followed them intently with his eyes.

"So you think his accomplice is someone higher up the food chain," Steve offered.

Shane stood to his feet and walked to the bar, running a hand along its edge. "I'm certain of it now."

"You don't think that Mitchell..."

Shane turned to face him, cutting him off mid-sentence. "No, I don't." He leaned back on the bar. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without his help. He's the one who authorized my little bait and switch." He narrowed his eyes. "No. I've worked with Frank before. After what he and his family endured in El Salvador, I don't question him. He's seen this kind of thing firsthand."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Frank's a stand-up guy." He chuckled. "Hey. Who'd have ever thought the ISA would put an American in charge? I say it's about time." He winked at Andrew. "Guess they got tired of tea and crumpets."

Shane raised an eyebrow at him. "More likely they grew tired of the steady stream of influence peddling and incompetence." He shook his head. It never took much to dupe Tarrington -- first Simon Prescott, then Drew. There was Vaughn before that; he had been corrupt to the core. And Shane would never forget Nickerson's traitorous betrayal. He crossed his arms. "Believe it or not, honest Brits do still exist within the ISA."

"I know." Steve met Shane's eyes evenly. "He's just been pretending to be someone else."

Andrew grasped Steve's meaning immediately, but before he could interject, Steve continued, "Something I've had a little practice at myself."

Steve's mind drifted back to their earlier conversations in Cincinnati. Shane had been among the first to question Steve after they discovered him alive, the first to express sincere regret they hadn't located him sooner. It was a shame it took a tail on his little brother Jack to alert the ISA to his existence at all. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that if Shane had been in charge, things would have worked out differently. But he couldn't blame the guy for what he'd given up to protect his family. And, Steve realized, Shane, more than anyone else, understood what it felt like to lose your past. "At least _you_ knew who you were this time."

"Most days," Shane smiled wryly at him, then turned back to the bar. "There has to be more to Gabrielle's murder, though." He ran through several scenarios in his head. "The timing of it is just too coincidental."

"Gabrielle was murdered?" Kimberly entered the room with a silver tray and set it down on the coffee table. "By who?"

Shane turned to her. "When was the last time you heard from Eve, Kim?"

Ignoring his intense gaze, she pushed the plunger down in the French press and poured the steaming brew into earthen mugs. "It's been awhile." Her eyes met Andrew's briefly. She lowered her voice. "Not since your funeral."

Shane shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

Steve cleared his throat. "Should I tell her?"

Kim grabbed a mug and settled into the chair next to Steve. "Tell me what?" she asked, blowing softly on her drink.

Shane returned to his chair. "It seems Gabrielle was not who we supposed she was." He looked at her. "And I'm beginning to suspect that neither is Eve."

"What do you mean?" Kim asked, not completely certain she wished to know the answer.

Shane rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "You are far more intuitive than I or anyone else has given you credit for, Kimberly." Andrew watched his mother's face closely as Shane continued, "After Gabrielle left Salem and the ISA, she worked as an attorney for the U.N., ostensibly finalizing currency exchanges, third party agreements between governments, and the like. As you know, Eve spent a lot of time with her when she was in west Africa..." He paused. "But, in recent years, they were all seen together -- Eve, Gabrielle...and my brother."

Andrew knew from experience how quickly his mother could piece things together.

"Gabrielle was with the U.N. _ostensibly,"_ she said. "You mean she was really working for someone else?" She returned her untouched coffee cup to the table.

Shane nodded and looked over at Steve. "Did your contact say how she was killed?"

"Strangled, dumped in a lake," Steve replied. "Quick and dirty."

Shane stood and walked round the back of the sofa. He folded his arms. "What do we know of Eve's whereabouts?"

"No one knows anything." Steve leaned forward and snatched a mug. He took a quick sip. "She could be with your brother, but since we don't know where he is..."

"Yeah." Shane moved to the French doors and looked out, rubbing the base of his neck. "But she's still alive. I'm beginning to wonder..."

Kim watched him closely. "You think there's a reason they killed Gabrielle and left Eve alone."

"Yes." Shane turned to her. "A reason I hadn't considered before now."

Andrew watched his parents look at each other as if no one else was in the room. Something flashed into his mind -- a memory of when his father came to take him to England seven years ago. At the time, he had thought nothing of it. Hey, he had the chance to travel the country with his dad and skip a grade of school at the same time. He was looking forward to the change of scenery and the adventure of it all. It hadn't occurred to him there could be any other reason than that his father wanted to spend time with him. Just before they boarded the plane, he recalled his parents looking at each other that way. Not to say it was the first time he had noticed it through the years, but this particular time was important enough to leave an imprint.

Seizing his opportunity, Andrew craned his neck back at his father. "Seems Gabrielle wasn't the only one leading a double life, was she, Dad?"

Shane turned to him.

"What do you mean?" Kimberly asked.

"Uncle Steve said you've been pretending to be someone else."

Shane's eyes lighted on Kim's once more. She saw hesitation in them, but only for a moment, quickly replaced by stolid determination as he walked past his son and seated himself in the chair opposite him. Shane expected to see bitterness, an open challenge reflected in his son's eyes, but found avid interest instead.

"You were pretending to be Uncle Drew, weren't you?" Andrew asked. "Why?"

Shane exchanged a careful look with Steve.

Kim took note of it, then stated simply, "That's what you weren't telling me." Snippets from their contentious conversation just before Shane took Andrew to England came to mind. "It wasn't just a cover in Prague." She blinked at him incredulously. "Drew was behind this all along?" Shane watched her stand to her feet and cross to the fireplace.

Steve smiled to himself at how easily these two communicated across the years, sometimes without saying a word. It reminded him of how Kayla could always see right through him, down to his very soul. It was a rare and beautiful thing. And scary, he realized, glancing at Andrew's stunned expression.

"Can we be talking about the same man?" Kim folded her arms and pivoted to face Shane. "The masquerade artist and philanderer? It's just unbelievable that he could be so...so..." she stammered.

"Devilishly cunning?" he finished. He arched an eyebrow at her. "It's absurd, I know. It seems he's learned a great deal over the years from Stefano...among others." He looked down briefly, then took a breath. "Kim," he looked up at her. "I couldn't be sure. As you said, it seemed too incredible to be true; I had only partial confirmation of my suspicions back then."

She nodded, unconvinced.

Shane let out a withered sigh, then stood and paced round the back of the sofa, coming to a stop just inches away from her and adopting a professional manner and tone. "After Drew left Salem, I didn't find out what became of him until...just before I rejoined the ISA." Kim peered at him through veiled eyes; he turned away abruptly and addressed Andrew, who sat upright, rapt with attention. "Unbeknownst to anyone in my confidence at the time, he'd returned to Europe, specifically Dublin, to assume leadership of one of the most notorious crime syndicates in the world." Andrew's eyes widened, but Shane moved forward with his debriefing undaunted. "His organization encompasses everything from illegal arms sales to international trade in stolen art, money laundering, narcotics, even counterfeiting." He stole a quick look at Steve. "Rather, it did until we were able to infiltrate the operation and systematically dismantle everything..."

"With the notable exception of arms sales," Steve finished for him.

Momentarily taken aback, Kim walked to the chair in front of Andrew and lowered herself into it.

"Since learning the truth about him," Shane continued quietly, "we were able to thwart his organization's activities on a case by case basis." He stepped behind Kim's chair, keeping a watchful eye on her. "And...while working undercover, I was beginning to gather information concerning the _real_ head of the organization." He cleared his throat. "That is...until..."

"Until Uncle Drew surprised me on the pier that night," Andrew concluded.

"Yes." Shane acknowledged, his look matching Andrew's in somber awareness.

A new silence set in.

"Your family's really screwed up, dude," Steve said to lighten the mood.

Shane rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

"All set, Commander," Stan trumpeted as he and his technicians flooded the room. "Just sign here." He stepped up to Shane and handed him a clipboard.

Shane perused and signed the papers quickly. "And my password is the same as before?"

"Until you change it, yes, sir."

"Thank you very much, gentlemen. I'll show you out." He led them to the foyer.

Steve stood up, glancing at his watch. "I should be going, too."

Kimberly took his coffee cup from him and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Thanks for your help. It means a lot."

He blushed slightly at her gesture. "I'd do anything for you guys," he said, recovering himself. "And besides, I know what it's like to be messed with like someone's messing with Shane. It's not right."

Kimberly nodded as they passed Shane, and Steve headed for the door.

Shane shook Steve's hand. "Thanks again," he said, then faced him squarely. "You know this goes both ways. If you need anything at all..."

"Yeah. I'll let you know. Later." Steve ducked through the door and left.

Shane sighed heavily as he closed the door.

Kimberly eyed him carefully. "You should get some rest, you know."

He smiled at her. "Do I look that bad?"

"Let's just say you can't pull an all-nighter quite like you used to."

"Tell me about it," he said stretching. "I think I'll head upstairs to sleep for a few hours. Will you and Andrew be all right?"

"We're fine," she assured him.

He took a deep breath. "I'll see you a little later then." He began to climb the stairs.

"Shane..."

He turned back to her.

She wavered a moment, then raised her eyes to his. "Thank you."

"For what?" He squinted at her.

"For letting us in."

One look from her still leveled him to the ground. "I suppose I've finally learnt my lesson," he conceded. "I can no longer go it alone."

"You're _not_ alone, cap'n. And don't you forget it," she smiled kindly.

A lump formed in his throat. Unable to respond, he just nodded, then turned and walked slowly to his room, shutting the door behind him.


	15. Chapter 14

**Donovan House, February 14th**

Kimberly yanked the front door open. She was not in the mood for this. "Hi, Hope," she managed to smile slightly as her sister-in-law burst through the door.

"Aren't we a sourpuss this morning." She eyed Kimberly curiously then breezed through to the living room just as Andrew came in from the dining room. "Hey, Andrew. How's my favorite nephew?" Her dark eyes twinkled.

"Your favorite nephew is _not_ going to this little party of yours," he said dryly. "They don't make tuxedos with slits in the trousers, and as you can see," he lifted his leg as high as he could under the weight of the cast, "I would make a terrible dance partner."

Hope removed her coat, draped it over the back of the sofa, and sat down. "What is_ wrong_ with this family? It's Valentine's Day, for goodness' sake! And you _are_ going, mister. This is not just a party; it's a benefit for my grandmother's favorite charity, so buck up. You're going!"

Kimberly crossed her arms in front of her and smiled. "It's useless, Andrew. When you're up against a Horton, there's no escape."

"Escape from what?" Shane emerged from his office with an armload of files. He grinned when he saw Hope. "Aha. What have you roped these two into?"

Hope arched a well-shaped brow at him. "Very clever. You're not getting out of it that easily, Shane. Dust off your tux, my friend. You're going, too."

"I literally walked into that, didn't I?" he deadpanned. "Okay, okay, where am I going?" He set the files on the table behind the sofa, as Andrew settled onto the couch next to Hope.

"The Alice Horton Foundation is hosting its annual Heart Ball to raise money for children with congenital heart defects," she explained. "Anyone and everyone is going. So..." she stood and retrieved her coat. "Kimberly and I are going shopping for the perfect dress, while you two find something respectable to wear. Come on, sis." She slipped on her coat and grabbed Kim's arm, pushing her toward the door.

Kimberly's eyes widened as she looked at Shane, who only shrugged his shoulders in mock helplessness. "You said it yourself, Kim. There's no escape."

She stumbled backward toward the door. "Help!" she called, as Hope giggled and pulled her coat from its hook, wrapping it around Kim's shoulders.

Shane heard the door close and chuckled. He glanced at Andrew. "Well, I'm sure we can scare up something at the local tux shop. What's your size?"

Andrew looked at his leg. "38 long...like extra long...to cover this ghastly thing."

"Oh, come on, son," Shane called from the alcove as he dialed the phone. "You wouldn't want to cover your cast. Just tell all the pretty girls you hurt your leg playing professional football. You'll be the most popular man there." Shane disappeared into the back hallway to place the order.

Andrew stole a quick look at the stack of files on the table behind him and, seeing his father still occupied, pushed himself up on his crutches and made his way over to it. He opened the first folder and began thumbing through psychological profiles, pages and pages of reports printed on Ohio State Penitentiary letterhead, and Air Force personnel records dated two decades earlier. He quickly scanned an ISA document marked: "Confidential. Clearance level three. Status: unknown."

"Find anything interesting?" Shane asked from behind.

Andrew jumped. "Oh, I was just..."

"I know you were just..." Shane raised an eyebrow and reached around him for the files. Andrew expected him to gather them under one arm and squirrel them away into his office. Instead, his father walked past the sofa and spread them out on the coffee table. "So..." He raised his head, his eyes challenging Andrew's. "Suspect profile?"

Andrew stared at the closed files and conjured an image of the top document. He read the computer printout from memory. "6' 2", approximately 190 pounds, brown eyes, hair. Traveling under assumed names with documentation provided through...unknown sources." He hesitated, then continued dispassionately. "Last confirmed sighting: Salem, Fisherman's Pier, January 4."

Shane nodded slowly and folded his arms. "Circumstances surrounding his escape?"

"His escape from prison can be traced to the same date: January 4. Failure to report it: linked to two sets of replacement guards; three of which have since been apprehended. One is still at large -- a suspected accomplice, possibly someone he knew in the Air Force."

"Other known acquaintances or accomplices?"

Andrew flipped through what he could retain of the suspect's personal history, then stopped himself. He lifted his head and stared at his father. "Just what do you think we'll find in those files?"

Shane shrugged. "I don't know. A connection to your uncle through Jericho, perhaps. Some indication that Cal and Drew knew each other -- or had a professional working relationship prior to the incident in question."

"The_ incident in question?_" Andrew shook his head, incredulous. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act like it's just another case."

"Now, wait a minute." Shane pursed his lips. "You were the one who said I couldn't get past what happened, remember? I am just trying to establish a connection. That's all."

"Dad, I'm not ten." Andrew rested his crutches against the couch and hopped to the chair next it. "I no longer enjoy playing spy." He lowered himself into the chair.

Shane tensed. "I see. So that's what you think I've been doing all this time? Play-acting?"

Andrew raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean there's a difference... _Drew?"_

Shane shook his head wearily. "How fortunate you are to see things in such simple terms." He walked to the bar and poured himself a scotch. It was still early, but hang it all, the look on his son's face demanded it. "I remember what it was like to be an idealist, with everything falling into neat little categories." Andrew rolled his eyes, preparing himself for a lecture. Shane took a quick sip of his drink. "You know, you go through life with a deep-seated sense of justice, of right and wrong. There's the objective truth and then there are lies, and you pride yourself on being one of the few who can readily discern the difference, who even bothers to give a damn." He set his glass on the bar. "Until one day you find yourself doing something you never thought you'd do." He took a breath. "And not because it's right or honest..." He traced the rim of the glass with a finger. "You instinctively know it isn't -- but you do it because you're backed into a corner and it seems the only way out...the best for everyone concerned." Andrew struggled to remain detached, but the tenor of his father's voice caused him to look over at him with a new interest. Shane stared at the amber liquid in the glass. "And before you know it, you look around and everything you once knew to be true is turned on its head." He picked up the glass to take another drink but thought better of it. "Still, the damnable thing is, if presented with the same set of circumstances, you'd do it again because, even though your ideals are now hopelessly muddled and gray, what holds most value to you has never been clearer." He set his glass down again. "Things are rarely as simple as they appear." He looked over at Andrew, who hurriedly looked away. "And when you view the world solely in black and white, it's possible to overlook things -- important things." He had made that mistake one too many times himself.

Andrew leaned forward and picked up a file, flipping through it. "Yeah, well, I had no trouble seeing Cal." He kept his eyes fixed on the pages before him. "Seems you were the one blind-sided by that one."

Shane clenched his jaw. "I suppose I deserved that."

Andrew tossed the file back on the table. "You don't even know where he is, do you?" He pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Not yet," Shane replied firmly. He_ had_ known. Down to the minute he'd known -- in periodic reports from the penitentiary. The thought brought him little comfort; he didn't imagine it would bring Andrew any now. Still, the guards who assisted Winters must have falsified the January reports. He made a mental note to check in with the ISA's midwest office again. "I have one of our best operatives on it right now. I expect to learn something soon." He watched his son's reaction closely.

"What will you do with him when you find him?"

Taking in Andrew's rigid posture, Shane took a measured breath and moved to the front of the bar. "Whatever the situation dictates," he said calmly.

Andrew stood abruptly and reached for his crutches. "I sure hope the muddied sense of justice you just described doesn't dictate what you do to him." He tucked them under his arms, refusing to look at his father.

Sensing Andrew's frustration, Shane crossed his arms. "All right." He lowered his voice. "If I tell you what I'd _like_ to do to him, would that satisfy you?"

Knowing full well what his father was capable of, Andrew stared at the floor. He secretly wished it would happen that way. But, like any criminal, Cal was entitled to due process. For the first time in his life, Andrew hated the rule of law.

Shane looked down. "Now you see why I have to treat it like any other case."

"But it isn't, is it?!"

Shane jerked his head up at the sudden outburst. "No. It isn't," he replied cautiously.

Andrew turned to Shane, his eyes flashing. "I mean, I don't have to memorize psychiatric evaluations in some file to know what he is!" Shane straightened and stood riveted as the words came tumbling out of Andrew in a breathless rush. "He's a sick, twisted, obsessed psychopath who weaseled his way into our lives at our lowest moment!"

Shane winced. "Andrew..." He took a careful step toward him.

"He--he comes up behind you, grabbing you, forcing you to the ground..." He wobbled on his crutches as memories of the assault came flooding back. "Kicking you in the gut with steel-toed boots till you..." He gasped. "Till you can't breathe!"

Shane's own breath caught in his chest. He reached for him.

"Don't!" Andrew pulled away. "Don't touch me!" He gripped the handles on his crutches tightly and steadied himself.

"Okay. Okay." Shane stepped back. "It's all right. I just..." He had forgotten. For all his brave talk, Andrew was still just a boy caught up in his father's world -- a world he never asked to be a part of, a world that had splintered his family and his body without warning or explanation. Shane was acutely familiar with what that felt like. "I just don't want you to think I'm keeping anything from you." He took a deep breath. "Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel."

"Do you?!"

"Yes. I do."

The razor sharp look in his father's eyes cut right through him. Andrew swallowed hard. "Then don't ask me to help you." He turned his back on him. "I want to know what's going on, but I can't..." He focused all his energy on holding the tears in.

Shane nodded knowingly, wishing he could put his arms around him, wishing so many things were different between them. "I understand. You've done enough. I couldn't possibly ask any more of you." He bent down and slowly collected the files, intent on walking away, but something stopped him as he came alongside his son. "I'm sorry. " He looked down, struggling for the right words. "I would give anything..." He silenced himself, realizing how hollow such platitudes sounded at a time like this. He thought for a minute, then cleared his throat. "Do you remember your year in England, that day we climbed Pentire Head?" Andrew fixed his eyes on the empty coffee table. Shane pressed on. "We ran into some unexpected weather when the clouds rolled in, and in an effort to keep pace, you lost your foothold. Remember?" Shane squinted his eyes as he pictured it. "You were dangling from the rope below me, and I called to you to let you know everything was okay. You couldn't see where I was above you because of the cloud cover."

Andrew kept his head bowed low as he leaned heavily on his crutches.

"You said afterward you knew you were all right because you could feel my weight on the rope as I lifted you up. You said that even though you couldn't see me, you knew I was there." Shane sighed heavily. "It may be hard for you to believe, and you have sufficient evidence to the contrary, but I've been here, Andrew." He paused, then finished quietly, "I've been here all along." Receiving no visible response, Shane turned and headed for the confines of his office.

Andrew heard the door close, then limped to the sofa and fell into it sobbing.

Shane dropped the files, scattering their contents. He leaned back against the door and shut his eyes. Sinking to the floor, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.


	16. Chapter 15

**Salem Inn, later that evening**

"You look lovely," Shane said shyly, as he held a hand out to her and Kimberly stepped from the car onto the curb.

She blushed at the sound of his voice. "Thank you."

She brushed past him, then turned as Shane opened the back door and pulled out Andrew's crutches for him. Leaning on the open car door and hopping on his good leg for a minute, he grabbed them from his father, muttered a begrudging "thanks," then motored toward the front door.

Kimberly looked from one to the other. Andrew really was the spitting image of his father; they both had those serious dark eyes and thick, wavy hair -- only Shane's had greyed with time. They even had the same rambling walk. Well, normally, she reminded herself as she watched Andrew hobble through the door. As Shane took a ticket from the valet and put his hand to the small of her back to lead her in, she wondered what had transpired between them earlier in the day. Neither one had said much of anything after she returned from shopping with Hope. And Shane's words to her just now were the first she'd heard all evening. He escorted her through the brass revolving door and she looked around, taking in the sparkling gold chandeliers and burgundy carpeting, the white candle sconces and mirrors on the walls, and the ornate walnut Georgian furniture. It was breathtaking.

Shane was thinking the same thing -- though, not about the decor. He inhaled her perfume as they headed for the coat check. She unhooked the clasp on her ivory cape, and he pulled it from her bare shoulders. His fingers lingered a moment on her skin. "I'll, uh, take care of this," he said softly. She nodded gracefully, then walked over to where Andrew had met up with Stephanie in the hallway.

He watched her go. The beads and pearls on her floor-length gown winked in the lamplight. The dress, a pale, antique rose, was strapless and fitted at the bodice; it hugged her tiny figure perfectly, accentuating every curve. The color highlighted her flawless skin and gave it a warm, pink glow. Her burnished gold hair was swept up with an ivory clip and her eyes sparkled like blue-green jewels. It had been too long since he'd had the opportunity to see her in this light, and he regretted all the years they could have spent together enjoying the finer things in life -- all the things he had always wanted to give her, the things he had promised her, the things she so richly deserved.

He checked her wrap and his wool coat, adjusted his black bow tie, and sauntered over just as Bo came up to them and patted Andrew on the back. "Here's our track star," he joked. "Sis, you clean up pretty nice, as usual." He leaned in to hug her.

"Where's Hope?" she asked.

He shrugged. "She's inside with the rest of the family. We were beginning to think you weren't gonna show." He eyed Shane, who smiled obligingly.

"Well, you know what they say, all work and no play..."

Bo tugged at his tux, "If you call dressing up in this monkey suit 'play'."

"Oh, I think you look very handsome, Uncle Bo," Stephanie smiled at him.

"For a monkey," Andrew added.

"Or a monkey's uncle," Bo quipped. Everyone laughed as Bo punched Andrew in the shoulder. "Let's see if you can keep up with me tonight, hot shot." They trooped up the stairs as a group and down the wide hallway. Shane and Kimberly trailed a ways behind.

Pearl-like ivory balloons floated near the ceiling of the ballroom, which was dotted with round tables adorned with red tablecloths and centerpieces of white roses, carnations and baby's breath. Though the room was spacious, and the parquet dance floor more than ample, the heavy gold velvet draperies and low lighting lent an air of intimacy. White tablecloths lined oblong buffet tables, which were similarly lined with people, while, across the room, couples danced to the old standards -- expertly played by a four-piece jazz ensemble.

Kimberly looked up at Shane as they entered. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

He marveled at her. "How could you possibly know what I was thinking?"

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly and she cast her eyes downward.

He guided her to a table near the back that Andrew had settled into and held out her chair as she sat down. "Since I'm a little out of practice, tell me what the lady would like to drink."

"The lady will have whatever the gentleman is having," she said demurely.

He raised his eyebrows, the smile reaching his eyes. "That's awfully trusting of you, Miss Brady."

She couldn't believe he had called her that. And yet, she felt like a "miss" this evening for some reason.

He lifted his chin at Andrew, seated with his leg propped up on a nearby chair. "Can I get you anything?"

"No. I'm good," he replied curtly.

Resigned, Shane leaned in to Kimberly, whispered, "I'll be right back," and strolled to the bar.

Kimberly turned to Andrew just as a cell phone rang. Andrew retrieved it from his jacket pocket and put it to his ear, grateful for the distraction. Then Shawn and Caroline came over to the table and the evening began. Somewhere amidst the crush of family and friends and being swept on and off the dance floor by her brothers and father, Kim noticed that Shane had brought her her favorite cabernet, and she could feel his eyes on her as he conversed with Roman and Abe on the far side of the room. He still had the power to unnerve her. She looked away, peering over at Andrew. He had taken up permanent residence at the bar, sucking down beers and talking incessantly on his cell phone. She wondered who could possibly have captured his attention so completely. She resolved to ask him about it later.

Right now, though, she was intent on knowing the subject of Shane's discussion with Roman. She had so many questions, and despite the fact they were now living under one roof, those questions remained unanswered. She knew they were both at fault: he didn't want to reveal too much, and part of her didn't really want to know. It left them in a quiet stalemate, growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing day. After being temporarily waylaid by an old friend from the abuse clinic, and receiving more than an earful of unnecessary hospital gossip, she excused herself and crossed the room. Roman smiled widely at her as she drew near, preparing to make his exit. "Have I missed anything?" she asked. Shane caught the slight edge to her voice; Roman ignored it and wrapped her in a warm bear hug.

"I was just telling Shane here..." He pulled away, holding his sister's shoulders and looking down at her. "Some of my more inspired moments have taken place on the dance floor." He nodded to Shane. "You never know. You might find you're able to solve all the problems of the world just dancing with the right woman."

Shane raised his glass to him. "I have no doubt of that."

"Speaking of which..." Roman looked past Kimberly as Marlena entered the room on Shawn Douglas's arm. "If you two will excuse me."

Kimberly couldn't help but smile. She kissed him on the cheek. "By all means, big brother." She leaned in and ruffled his curly, gray hair. "Go get her." Roman laughed. She watched him go, noting the light in Marlena's eyes as he approached.

Shane stepped forward, set his snifter on a nearby table, and pulled out a chair for her. "Why don't you have a seat, Miss Brady, and fill me in on your little escapade this afternoon with Hope." He looked at her pointedly.

She sat and placed her jeweled clutch on the table. "Mum's the word on that one, bub." She drew her thumb and forefinger across her mouth and twisted her wrist neatly.

He feigned a German accent as he pushed her chair in. "We have ways of making you talk."

"Apparently." She watched him take the seat beside her. "It would appear _someone_ already did."

Retrieving his brandy, he took a slow sip. "You know I assigned that detail to you for your own safety," he said seriously.

She pursed her lips. "Come on, Shane. I was with a cop. What more protection did I need? Anyway... " She shrugged her shoulders. "It was kind of fun giving them the slip."

He shook his head.

"Now, don't give me that patronizing look, Shane Donovan. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, how well I know that."

"What?" She widened her eyes. "You think your brother would come after us in broad daylight while we were trying on dresses?" She chuckled. "I admit there's a lot I didn't know about him." She leaned toward him and said in a stage whisper, "You don't suppose he's into cross-dressing now, do you?"

He drained his glass and set it on the table. "Kimberly..." Her attempt at levity had failed miserably. "It's not Drew I'm worried about."

Her smile faded as she met the level of concern in his eyes. "I know."

He reached for her hand. "I won't let Winters hurt you...or Andrew...ever again," he said quietly.

She covered his hand with hers. "So..." she began. "When are you going to tell me what's really going on?" They concentrated on the interplay of their fingers, avoiding each other's eyes.

He drew a breath.

"I mean, am I asking too much?" she asked.

He looked at her. "No." He shook his head. "You deserve to know..."

"But..." She withdrew her hands from his.

He rubbed the tip of his nose. "It's taken me so long to piece together what I do know about Drew and his activities over the years. And there's so much more to it, Kim." He searched her face. "Just before Andrew was attacked, I had a very viable lead on the head of his organization in Brussels. Peach and I were tracking his movements, and I thought I had him. I was so close to putting an end to this whole sordid mess." He reached over and played with the stem of his glass on the table. "And then, bang. They moved the goal posts. Both Drew and Cal escaped prison, and despite all the years of trying to keep you and the children out of it, of doing anything and everything to keep you safe--"

"Everything except tell us the truth," she countered.

He stiffened. "How can I make you understand?" He gave her a sharp look. "My brother is working for a very, very powerful and dangerous man. You think that little security detail I put on you this afternoon was a nuisance? Imagine someone following your every move, your every action, and not just for weeks, but years. You wouldn't have been able to pick up your morning newspaper without being watched. That's how serious this is, Kimberly."

She narrowed her eyes. "And you still think you're protecting me by keeping me in the dark."

"I didn't say that."

"Then why does it feel like you're hiding something from me?"

He let out an exasperated sigh.

She put up her hands to stop his protests. "I don't mean that you're hiding information about Drew and the whole criminal enterprise he's messed up in. I'm beginning to understand what that's all about." She looked down. "It's just that it feels..." She bit her lip. "It feels like it did when you were hiding that Gabrielle was Eve's mother... or when you knew Roman was alive, and you hid the fact that you even had a brother in the first place."

"Kim..."

She stood to her feet. "You know what, Shane? I'm tired of beating my head against the same brick wall." She reached for her purse. "No matter how close we got or ever could get, you'll always be holding something back from me."

He stood slowly, keeping his eyes lowered.

Her voice grew quiet. "And I'm done trying to reach you. I'm...I'm just done."

"Kimberly..." His hand brushed her shoulder as she turned on her heel and walked away from him, escaping into the hallway without looking back.

He watched her leave, slid his hands into his pockets, and kicked at the floor. "Damn." Then he dropped back down in his chair, leaned an elbow on the table, and put a fist to his mouth.

Kimberly stood alone in the ladies room, touching up her makeup. She stepped back from the mirror and ran a hand over her dress, smoothing it; then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. No matter how many calming breaths she took, she couldn't rid herself of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had foolishly thought they were making progress the other day when he revealed what had kept him from her and the children for five years and given her a glimpse into the undercover world he'd been forced into by his brother. She had read all the clues in his eyes without saying a word -- even the sudden shared realization that Eve could, in fact, be Drew's daughter. But when it came to his doubts, his fears, his inner life, she was hopelessly shut out in the cold. And she wondered why he felt he had to protect her from...himself. She took another breath, attempting to shake it off, then leaned toward the mirror and replenished her rose-colored lipstick. She puckered her lips and stared at her reflection a moment as the thought came to her that, even with all these issues hanging between them, she found herself utterly disappointed he hadn't asked her to dance. She supposed they had been dancing around each other for some time. Still... _Women are such silly creatures,_ she mused. She popped her lipstick back in her purse and took one last look in the mirror. Then, glancing quickly around to ensure she was still alone, she stuck her tongue out at herself, pressed her shoulders back, and headed for the party.

Remaining alone where she'd left him in the ballroom, Shane stared at his empty glass, then pushed it aside and stood with renewed purpose. There was only one thing to do at a time like this: he would get blind drunk. He squared his shoulders and started for the bar. Hmm. Seems someone was determined to beat him to it. He watched Andrew down a shot of clear liqueur and snap his glass back on the counter. He supposed he ought to go and rescue him before Kimberly found out. He put his hands in his pockets and made his way over to him just as a silver-haired man approached, shadowed by two wide-shouldered muscle men.

The man held out a hand in a smooth, businesslike manner. "Hello, Andrew."

Andrew eyed him warily as he took his hand and shook it.

"I don't suppose you remember me."

Andrew opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Shane appeared alongside him. "Good evening, Victor."

"Commander Donovan." Victor turned to him. "How nice to see you again. It _is_ you, isn't it?" He squinted at him. "I hear there's been some confusion on that front."

Shane narrowed his eyes. "Not any more than was necessary."

"So I understand." Victor raised his eyebrows. "Seems your little ruse was not as effective as you'd hoped it'd be."

Shane covered his surprise by responding coolly, "You of all people should know things don't always go as planned. And I've been known to improvise a time or two."

"Yes. You always do seem to land on your feet." Victor's eyes traveled down Andrew's cast. "It's a pity young Andrew here can't say the same."

Shane glared at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about me, Mr. Kiriakis," Andrew chimed in breezily. "Isn't there a Greek proverb that says he who suffers much will know much?"

Victor smiled. "Fortunately for you, you strike me as a pretty fast learner."

Shane met his son's eyes briefly, then turned back to Victor. "I'd say we've just about covered the social niceties, wouldn't you? Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"Actually, it's what I can do for _you_, if you're interested."

Shane folded his arms. "I don't imagine we would be."

"Well, I'll offer it anyway." Victor tilted his head at Andrew. "I'd be more than happy to assist in locating the man that attacked you."

Andrew focused on his father a moment. "I don't believe we need your help." He then met Victor's even stare. "My father has everything well in hand."

"Thanks all the same," Shane finished.

The corner of Victor's mouth turned up slightly as he glanced from father to son. "The offer stands, nonetheless." He fixed his eyes once more on Andrew. "Just say the word. A pleasure seeing you both. Enjoy the rest of the party." He nodded to his bodyguards and departed for the other side of the room.

Andrew's eyes followed Victor's movements as he drifted from one person to the next, never staying long enough for conversation. "I get the feeling that guy knows more about me than I do."

Shane leaned back on the bar. "You'd be right about that," he conceded.

"Which means he's useful."

"Exactly." Shane nodded approvingly. "And here I was under the misapprehension you disliked the spy business."

They exchanged a tentative smile.

Turning his attention to the entranceway, Shane watched as Kimberly met up with her mother and gave her a tender hug. He put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Would you excuse me a minute?"

Andrew nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." Shane took a step, then turned back quickly. "Oh. And, uh, take it easy, hmm?" He eyed the empty shot glass on the bar with bemusement.

"I will." Andrew waited until his father left, then pivoted awkwardly on his bar stool and ordered a chardonnay.

"I'll catch up with you in a minute, Mama." Kimberly squeezed her mother's arm.

"Okay, dear." Caroline squeezed her hand in return and joined Hope out in the hallway. Kim's eyes darted past a few people, zeroed in on Andrew at the bar, and narrowed with interest as a familiar-looking blonde sidled up to him. She stood for a minute trying to place the face.

A flash of white fluttered before her eyes, accompanied by a deep voice emanating from behind her back: "I come in peace."

"Shane..."

He stepped in front of her, waving a cotton handkerchief. "Truce?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on." He tickled her nose with it.

"No." She brushed it aside.

He smiled. "Listen, listen..."

She shook her head.

"Just for a moment..." He fumbled with the handkerchief, then stuffed it unceremoniously in his pocket. "Perhaps even for a few moments...before this night comes to its untimely end..." His eyes settled steadily on hers. "Could we just..." He took a breath. "Push everything else aside? Do you think that's even possible?"

Kimberly listened as the melodic strains of a new song filled the air and stole a glimpse of Roman escorting Marlena onto the dance floor.

Shane followed her train of thought. "Would you do me the honor of sharing this dance with me, Miss Brady?" He held out an arm to her.

_God, I hate it when he's charming,_ she thought. _Irresistibly so._

"Please?" He arched an eyebrow.

She glanced furtively at the stage as a stylish brunette stepped up to the microphone, her dulcet voice filling every corner of the room:

_The very thought of you..._

"All right." She smiled shyly and put her hand on his arm.

_...and I forget to do..._

He grinned, covered her hand with his, and led her to the dance floor.

_...the little ordinary things...that everyone ought to do..._

He took her in his arms and held her close.

_I'm living in a kind of daydream...but I'm happy as a queen..._

She leaned into his shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling his hand in hers, his arm encircling her waist protectively. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

_And foolish though it may seem to me...that's everything..._

They swayed slowly to the music. "You're right, Kimberly." He broke the silence reluctantly. "I haven't been completely honest with you." She opened her eyes as they continued to dance close, not looking at one another. "But I want to be," he said into her ear. "I think you know how hard it is for me, but I promise I'll try. I really will try."

_The mere idea of you...the longing here for you..._

She shut her eyes again briefly and he could feel her inhale sharply.

_You'll never know how slow the moments go when I'm near to you..._

"Okay," she said quietly. "But I'll have to hold you to that promise, Shane Donovan."

_I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above..._

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He reached up and ran his fingertips along the nape of her neck, closing his eyes.

_It's just the thought of you..._

She could feel the tension leave him in a deep sigh.

_...the very thought of you, my love..._

Over at the bar, the young blonde leaned in to Andrew. "Those are your parents, right?"

Andrew swirled the remains of the wine in his glass. "Yep." He looked at her. "How'd you know?"

"Let's just say I'm nosy." She smiled mischievously. "It runs in the family."

"And what family would that be?"

"Abby Devereaux." She held out a hand. "And you must be Andrew Donovan."

He reached over and took her hand in his. "Guilty as charged." He released her, and she turned to look out on the dance floor. His eyes fastened on her glittering powder blue gown and her wavy golden hair as it caught the light.

"They look so happy together," she said wistfully.

He almost choked on his drink. "Happy?" He gestured at them. "Them? Your powers of observation must be waning, Miss Devereaux."

"I don't think so." She looked at him, her brown eyes sparkling. "Maybe yours need sharpening." She smiled. "It was nice to meet you, Andrew." She stepped around him.

His eyes followed her as she wended her way to the Horton family table, then he turned his full attention to the dance floor just as the phone in his pocket vibrated. He set down his glass and put the phone to his ear. "Hi." He continued to stare at his parents as they danced into the next song. "Hey, hey. Slow down a minute. I promised I'd tell you everything, didn't I?" He sighed heavily. "Now, what else do you want to know?"


	17. Chapter 16

**Donovan House, after midnight**

Andrew slumped onto the sofa and let his crutches fall to the floor. He'd pick them up later. It was difficult enough to lift his leg onto the coffee table. He leaned his head back on the cushions and closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning. What was that saying? "Wine before beer, never fear…beer before wine…something, something…" Clearly he couldn't remember, or he would have heeded the advice. He put a hand to his aching temple.

"Andrew," his mother called from the foyer. "Have you spoken to Jeannie at all?" She hung up her cape, listening for a response. Not hearing any, she peeked into the living room. Her son appeared to be passed out with his coat on. She sighed and dialed her cell phone. "Oh, hi, Liz. I'm sorry to bother you again." She walked to the bar and poured two glasses of water. "Is Jeannie available?" She took a sip from one and left it on the bar, then brought the other over and set it on the side table by the sofa next to Andrew. She sat in the chair opposite. "Still? Why do you think that is?" She removed her shoes, listening as Liz explained that Jeannie had shut herself up in her room all night and wouldn't let anyone in. She appeared to have been talking with someone on her cell phone and was very upset. She didn't want to speak to anyone – especially her mother and father. "I just don't understand it." Kim rubbed her feet. "Who could she have been…?" Then it dawned on her. "I'll have to call you back. I think I've figured it out." She eyed her sleeping son, then told Liz, "I appreciate all you're doing. Let me know if things get worse." She waited while Liz assured her that she and Neil were old hands at raising girls and could handle it. She smiled. "Thanks again. We'll talk soon." She flipped the phone shut, then dropped it on the coffee table. She stood and walked deliberately to Andrew, putting a hand to his shoulder and shaking him. "Wake up, troublemaker."

Shane emerged from his office, removing his coat as he walked. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. They had no sooner arrived home than he was paged for a phone call on his secure line. It turned out to be a waste of time. The man he had hired tracked Cal as far as New York then lost him. Shane nearly threw the phone across the room when he found out. He fought his first impulse to grab his gun and go after Winters himself. Then, recalling his son's face from earlier that afternoon, the desperation in his voice, and the feel of Kimberly in his arms as they'd danced, he took a few minutes to compose himself, stepped out of his office, and assumed his poker face. "How's the life of the party?" he asked sarcastically. He hung up his coat and returned to the living room.

Andrew stirred, muttering, "What?" Lolling his head from side to side, he opened his eyes painfully slowly, only to find his parents staring down at him. _Not good. _

"Who were you talking to on your phone all night?" Kim demanded.

"No one." He blinked up at her. "Why?"

Shane settled into one of the high-backed chairs and watched the scene unfold before him.

"Jeannie won't talk to me." Kim crossed her arms in front of her. "In fact, she's been holed up in her room crying all evening, talking with _someone_ on her phone."

"Is she all right?" Shane furrowed his brow.

Kimberly turned to him. "I don't know. Liz and Neil are handling it. I can't understand what could have happened to upset her so much."

Shane peered at Andrew. "Do you know anything about this?"

"Actually, _I_ don't have a thing to do with is." He glared at his father.

Shane gripped the armrests tightly.

"What do you mean by that?" Kimberly interjected.

Andrew exhaled sharply. "Nothing. Listen, maybe one of her friends upset her, or it was a guy or something. How should I know?" He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"I think you do know." Kim said. She kicked his good leg. His eyes snapped open. She uncrossed her arms, lowered herself into the chair facing him, and leaned forward.

Andrew's head throbbed as he lifted it from the couch, glancing from one angry parent to the next.

"Andrew Shawn Donovan…" Kimberly began.

He held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. But you're not gonna like it."

"Tell us anyway," Shane snapped.

Andrew felt sick. "She overheard our conversation last week about Cal."

"What about it?" Kimberly asked, exchanging a worried look with Shane.

"She heard that..." Andrew heaved a sigh then glanced at his father. "She heard me say you didn't think she was yours."

Shane stood abruptly and walked round the back of the sofa, rubbing a hand down over his nose and mouth.

Andrew avoided his mother's gaze.

"And tonight?" Kim inquired. "What were you two talking about tonight?"

"She wanted to know more about Cal…" Andrew continued reluctantly. "So…"

Shane glowered at him. "So you told her."

"Someone had to," Andrew returned.

Shane bit down hard. He took a step toward the sofa just as the Blackberry on his belt buzzed and whirred. "Damn," he muttered, unhooking it and staring at the message onscreen. "I have to take this." His eyes met Kimberly's. "I'll be right back."

Andrew held his tongue. It would be too easy to fire off a quick comment, and he knew he couldn't handle the consequences of such a run-in just now.

Shane disappeared into his office as Kimberly moved to the sofa and sat beside Andrew. "What did you tell her?" she asked, fearing the worst.

"I only said he was a sick person who tricked you, and that...at first...you thought she might have been his." He put his head in his hands. "And..."

"And what, Andrew?"

He took a breath. "And that you and Dad split up after it happened."

"What makes you think you had any right to tell her all that?"

"But, Mama, she asked me—"

"I don't care!" Kimberly stood. "It was not your place. You should have come to me." She threw up her hands. "I can only imagine what she thinks now."

"She has a right to know…".

"And you thought _you_ were the one to tell her?" She turned to face him. "What happened was between me and your father. We should have been the ones to tell her. If she had questions, _we_ were the ones to answer them, not _you_! God!" She looked up at the ceiling a moment, "She probably blames herself for everything." She turned her back on him and looked down, shaking her head.

Andrew sat up. "I didn't think of that." He suddenly felt completely sober.

She whirled around. "No, you sure as hell didn't!"

"Kim…" Shane stepped into the living room. "It's not his fault," he said firmly. "It's mine…remember?"

Their eyes connected over a certain sleepless night in a lowlit studio apartment in Rome.

Kimberly forced her mind back to the present. "I have to talk to her." She rushed to pick up the phone in the alcove. "I'm going to L.A."

"Kim, wait…" Shane grasped her arm gently as she passed.

She stared up at him. There it was -- that despairing look from the other night. "Something's happened…" she breathed.

He nodded slowly. "That was Kate phoning from London." He swallowed hard. "Kim...Peachy's gone. She passed away earlier this evening."

* * *

**The following day, early afternoon**

Shane stepped into the foyer and dropped his suitcase, allowing the matching black garment bag slung over his shoulder to drop down on top of it. He turned, his eyes drifting up the stairs to look for Kimberly. She must be exhausted. He had heard her pacing in her room all night; she couldn't have gotten much sleep. He let out a deep sigh. Of course, neither had he. He heard a thud, followed by a yelp and a groan, and turned to the living room where Andrew had bumped his cast on the coffee table. He fell onto the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing in pain.

Shane walked over to him. "Are you all right?" he asked, kneeling by the table and helping Andrew lift his leg onto it.

"Leave me alone," Andrew barked. "I don't need your help." He groaned.

Shane straightened. "Fine."

"Fine!" Andrew leaned his head back on the cushions. Then he opened his eyes to find his father looming over him, his hands on his hips.

"But you should know I've had just about enough of this."

"Enough of what?" Andrew spat out.

"The injured martyr routine." Shane's eyes narrowed. "You've made it abundantly clear how you think of me."

Andrew snorted.

"I get it," Shane stated resolutely. "I was barely there for you during your childhood; I haven't been around for years; you don't want me here now. But whether you like it or not, I _am_ here, and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

"Where have I heard that before?" Andrew mumbled.

"Stop it!" The intensity of his father's voice jolted Andrew. "Like I said," Shane continued in a more controlled manner, "I'm not going anywhere." He pointed at him. "And you'd better bloody well get used to it."

Andrew stared blankly up at him.

Shane let out a slow breath and marched back into the foyer, reaching for Kimberly's flowered tapestry suitcases as she struggled to haul them down the stairs. "Here. Let me get those." He set them on the floor and looked at her. "You all right?" he asked tenderly.

She shook her head. "I've been better."

"Didn't get much rest, did you?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, nursing a headache. "Nope. You?"

He put a hand to her cheek for a moment and gazed into her eyes.

The doorbell rang and he turned from her and let Bo and a rugged, dark-haired man enter. As he was about to shut the door, a tall, lanky young man ducked in behind them. "Look who I ran into outside." Bo pointed back at his companions. "Hey, Kimber." He moved in to hug her.

She smiled wanly at him.

Shane leaned over and shook the tall man's hand. "Thanks for making the trip."

"No trouble, sir," he returned, glancing at Kimberly.

"David." Shane clapped the older gentleman on the back. "How are you, my friend? Sorry to drag you from poolside."

The man chuckled, responding in a lilting Scottish accent: "I freckle in the sun anyhow." Then he lowered his voice. "I was saddened to hear about Peachy. It's a great loss to us all."

"Thank you, David," Shane returned in a hushed tone. He glanced at Bo. "And thanks for your help with this."

Bo nodded and headed for the living room where he positioned himself beside Andrew on the couch.

Kimberly followed the men in and sat on the armrest of one of the chairs as Shane introduced them to Andrew. "This is David Halpern, former agent on loan from Scotland Yard."

David reached down and shook Andrew's hand warmly. "Lately retired but always glad to help out a friend."

"Hello," Andrew said shyly.

"He'll be heading up the security detail while your mother and I are away..." He tilted his head at Bo. "Along with your Uncle Bo here."

"You really think Drew has the guts to try something?" Bo asked.

Shane sighed, "He seems to favor the idea of striking when there are distractions. Peachy's funeral would appear to be an opportune time." He nodded to the taller man. "And this is Stephen Jeffers. He handles security at the Manor." He looked at Kimberly. "He'll ensure you make it over safely."

Jeffers reached his long arm around Shane and extended it toward Kimberly.

"Sorry to make you come all this way." She shook his hand then eyed Shane. "Is all this really necessary?"

"Let's hope not," he responded. He stole a quick look at his watch, then back at her.

Kimberly stood and walked to Andrew. She kissed his cheek and hugged his neck. "Love you."

"Love you, too," he said dejectedly.

She clasped his hand in hers and smiled reassuringly. "I'll call as soon as I get there, okay?"

Bo whispered something to Andrew, then followed Kimberly and Shane into the foyer. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll take good care of him." He and Shane exchanged a careful look while Shane assisted Kimberly with her coat. Kim hugged her brother, thanked him, and preceeded Shane out the door.

After they had gone, David excused himself to make some calls in the office. Bo settled into a chair and clapped his hands together. "So…want to order pizza?"

Andrew pulled a face, putting a hand to his stomach. "After last night, I think I'll hold off on the pizza for a bit." Bo nodded. A few minutes passed as Andrew mustered up the courage to address his uncle. "I'm a prisoner, aren't I?" He said finally.

Bo smiled. "Just where did you think you were going with that paperweight strapped to your leg?"

Andrew returned the smile through his eyes, then grew serious again. "I just don't understand why I have to stay here." He sighed heavily. "Why couldn't I go to the funeral? She was my _godmother_." His voice became quiet. "I loved her, too."

"I know it's tough." Bo stood and walked around the back of the couch. "But he's only trying to protect you."

"He's done a bang-up job so far."

Bo bit his lip and leaned on the sofa table.

"And why does my mother get the young, strapping bodyguard, and I get..." Andrew gestured back toward the office. "The Old Man in the Sea?"

Bo laughed. "Don't let his flannel shirts and jokes fool you. That 'old man' is the best in the business. He's protected nobility all over Europe. Your dad must have called in some major favors to get him." He remembered how invaluable he had been during that dustup with Britta and Lars. "You know," he continued quietly, "he only wants what's best for you. That's what any father wants, really."

Andrew glanced over his shoulder at him. "And how would _he_ know what's best for _me_?"

Bo sighed. "I think maybe it's time you cut him some slack."

Hearing echoes of Paul's advice from days earlier, Andrew shot back, "Why?"

Bo clicked his tongue and stepped to the French doors, pulling aside the white muslin curtain to let the sun peek through. "You might want to consider the possibility that he's not the bad guy in all this." When Andrew started to protest, Bo held up a hand and looked at him. "Oop, before you get going there, partner, just wait. Think for a minute. What if he was actually the good guy. What if…" He paused, considering. "I mean, what if it was you?" He came to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of Andrew. "What kinds of things would make you do the things he's done? What lengths would you go to to protect your ma and Jeannie?"

Andrew looked down at his hands.

"Just think about it." He patted Andrew's knee "That's all I'm asking." Then he stood, rubbing his hands together. "So...do you think you could stomach Chinese food? I'm starving."

* * *

**Salem Airport, main terminal**

Shane adjusted the garment bag over his shoulder and removed his hand from Kimberly's lower back, where it had remained as they moved through the terminal together.

"This way, Ms. Brady," Jeffers called, as he headed for the people mover that would cart them to the international terminal.

"I'm coming," she motioned to him, then turned to Shane and sighed.

"We'll see you tomorrow night, all right?" he assured her.

She fidgeted.

Feeling the weight of concern reflected in her eyes, he offered, "You can always come with me."

"No." She shook her head. "I understand. It's just the mother in me. I want to rush to her side and fix it, but…I know. I know. This is something you have to do."

He looked at her pointedly, "It's something I should have done a long time ago." He rubbed her arm. "I'll call you as soon as I see her."

She nodded.

He leaned down and kissed her softly on the cheek. "Wish me luck."

"You'll need it." She smiled weakly.

"Go on." He nodded toward Jeffers. "And try and get some sleep on the plane, will you?" he called as she walked away from him.

She turned and saluted him in one fluid motion. He smiled, then turned back to his gate and the plane bound for Los Angeles.


	18. Chapter 17

**Los Angeles, later that afternoon**

He pulled the silver Mercedes into the parking lot, praying this would be the last place he would have to look for her. After stepping off the plane and checking in with Liz and Neil, Shane learned that Jeannie hadn't come home from school as expected. He asked Liz to contact a couple of her friends, then, despite a private resolution not to worry her, he reluctantly called Kimberly to gain a few ideas as to where his daughter might be.

It felt strange driving through the streets of Los Angeles openly – even stranger when he stopped at the beach house to look for Jeannie. He let himself in with the key Neil gave him, taking in the familiar muted earth tones and soft, comfortable, ivory-shaded furniture. Feeling like an intruder, his eyes drifted upward to the rows of Kimberly's black and white photographs lining the walls and the bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, family portraits, and scented candles. He looked over at the slate fireplace, recalling fondly a Christmas Eve in 1999 when he had finally been able to safely spend time with Kimberly and the children. It was the best present he could have possibly received, rivaling in his mind the Christmas Kim first told him she was pregnant or the day Paul returned Andrew to them. He remembered trimming the tree, lighting candles, and dancing with Jeannie to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." She was dressed for bed in one of those pink-chiffon, princess nightgowns, dolled up like a Christmas present with the red satin bow in her hair she had worn to mass earlier. As young girls were wont to do, she stood on his feet as they danced, looking up at him adoringly, her golden hair streaming down her back as he smiled down at her. He could hear her girlish giggle as he swung her up in his arms and twirled her around. "Again, Daddy. Again!" she called. And he spun her round and round in circles.

Entering the dance studio now, he recalled how he'd had to stop, despite her protestations, and only because he had grown dizzy. Not Jeannie. She never seemed to tire of spinning and twirling...and dancing.

He inquired after her at the front desk and was told by a lithe brunette, to whom he was grateful for faithfully checking his identification, that she was in studio ten at the end of the hall. He breathed a sigh of relief and placed a quick call to Kim, then the Curtises, to let them know he had located her. As he hung up and approached the half-open door, he could hear the strains of a waltz, a sweet, almost music-box-like melody, echoing in the cavernous, mirror-lined room. He ducked into the alcove, shielded partly from view by a cloth barrier, and watched her as she stood alone, lifting her arms above her head in an arc and leaning over her outstretched leg.

Dressed in a sky-blue leotard and ballet pointers, her silky blond hair swept up in a neat bun, she moved to the barre and lifted her leg onto it, bending her torso over it and eyeing herself in the mirror. She repeated the motion with her other leg, then stepped to the stereo and pushed a few buttons. The music began again. She positioned herself in the center of the room and closed her eyes momentarily. Then she lifted herself onto her toes and flitted backward like a butterfly, holding her head erect and swinging her arms above her head. She raised a leg to hip level then bent it inward as she spun on her other leg in a series of ronde de jambes, whirling in a line of concentric circles. He watched her for several long minutes as she pirouetted and leapt across the room, graceful and fragile as a flower caught on the wind, yet powerful and strong as the wind itself. As the music slowed, she came to a halt and rose on the toes of one foot, then pressed it down, lifting her other leg straight behind in a single arabesque before executing a sweeping turn and returning to her starting position. She posed in front of the mirror, reaching skyward, then turned her head slightly and stopped mid-motion. He held his breath. She had spotted him.

Her hazel eyes followed his reflection in the mirror as he stepped out from behind the barrier. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly.

She spun on her heel and walked to the stereo, clicking the off button before leaning over to pick up a water bottle. She took a quick sip. "That's okay," she said flatly. "My hour's almost up anyway." She reached for a white towel and dabbed at the back of her neck. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she moved to a bench at the far end of the room near a window and began unlacing her shoes.

Hands behind his back, his shirt sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he strolled over to her and sat down beside her. "We were worried about you," he began in a hushed voice. "Are you okay?"

"You were worried for nothing," she said curtly, shoving her shoes into a gym bag and pulling on a pair of ankle boots. "I can take care of myself." She stood and reached for an oversized gray sweatshirt. Slipping it over her slim shoulders, she crossed the room and dropped the towel in a bin by the door. "You didn't have to come. Tell Mama I'm just fine." She rolled her eyes and reached for her jacket. "I'll probably get to tell her myself. Is she waiting outside?"

He stood and walked to her. "No. I came alone." He stopped in front of her, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Andrew told us you know about Cal. I think we should talk."

She lifted her chin. "I don't have anything to say to you." She gestured toward the hallway. "Michelle is waiting to drive me back to Neil's."

She turned, but he grabbed her elbow, pivoting her gently to face him. "There's something else." She blinked at him defiantly, but he pressed on, "Your mother's in London. I came to collect you so we could join her. Jeannie…" He lowered his voice. "Peachy died yesterday."

She wrenched her arm away from him and looked down. "No," she whispered, shaking her head.

"From what Kate could tell me, it was fairly quick," he added softly. "She had another stroke and passed away soon after."

She started to cry, then wiped at her tears and started for the door. "I--I have to go. I need to find Misha."

He moved in front of her, carefully placing his hands on her shoulders. "Come on," he whispered. "I'll take you."

She considered arguing with him but, suddenly, the effort seemed too great. She allowed him to take her bag and, after informing her friend she had a ride, he escorted her to the car.

They drove in silence as the late afternoon sun played with the palm trees and glittered off steel obsidian buildings, shiny oversized billboards, and his darkened sunglasses as he glanced at her periodically. He made a quick turn and drove along the coast for a while, stopping not far from Kimberly's house at a public beach. He found a parking spot just as a few die-hard surfers in wetsuits began streaming away from the water, shaking the sand from their feet for the day.

He switched off the engine and removed his sunglasses, rubbing at his tired eyes. "We need to talk about this, Jeannie."

She looked down at her fingers. "I told you I have nothing to say. So, let's just get on the next plane and go to Peachy's funeral."

He sighed deeply. "As much as I loved her and I want to be there…" he paused for a moment. "I don't think I can leave here until we talk."

She kept her eyes on her hands, refusing to look at him.

"You don't have to say anything, but will you at least listen?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly. She had thought of a dozen quick retorts and cutting barbs she could have used with him, but for some reason, it seemed like an insult to Peachy's memory to use them now. So she gave in and let him talk.

"I don't know where to begin," he admitted, shifting his body toward her and resting an arm on the seatback. He put a fist to his mouth for a moment. Then he stretched his arm out again and played with a loose string on the seatback cushion. "I know you probably won't believe this, but I wanted you before you were born," he said. He looked over at her cautiously. "Did your mother ever tell you about the baby we lost?"

She was surprised by his statement, but only shook her head.

"About a year and a half after Andrew was born, your mother found she was pregnant…with a girl." He looked away from her. "A lot of things started happening at once and everything seemed to be pulling us farther and farther apart. I was distracted with work and news of a runaway named Eve who claimed to be my daughter." He shook his head. "All I could think of was how everything would affect _me._" He cleared his throat. "I lost track of what mattered most – like your mother and our child." He shut his eyes as he relived it. "The pregnancy was difficult for her, and with my work and Eve and all..." He sighed heavily. "Well, I didn't make it any easier."

Jeannie continued to stare at her fingers. She remembered Eve from the funeral, and from what her mother and brother told her over the years, she had no reason at all to like her...let alone trust her. Eve had breezed in that day without speaking to anyone, stayed for the ceremony, and breezed back out, never to be heard from again. Jeannie glanced furtively at her father. He was quieter than she'd ever remembered him being -- quiet and almost...unsure. As the feeling was unfamiliar to her, she stayed silent, listening intently as he continued in a subdued voice.

"Then something happened." He drew a shaky breath. "I was out of town again and late getting back. Eve called your mother to help her out of a jam she'd gotten herself into." He could feel his chest constrict with the memory. "And in trying to save her from some man...your mother was attacked…pushed up against...and the force of the blow..." He paused, taking shallow breaths. "Our baby girl was killed."

Jeannie felt a chill go through her and she tucked her hands up under her arms. She couldn't believe he was telling her all this -- and being so open with her. They used to be able to talk to each other about anything but, she realized now, the conversations had been mostly one-sided. He had patiently listened to her as she unloaded her most personal thoughts and fears -- things she felt uncomfortable sharing with her mother. (At least, at one time she had.) Then he disappeared, and everything changed.

He peered through the windshield at the ocean in the distance. "Your mother was devastated, and I…I tried...I guess I tried to be there for her, but I couldn't. Not in the way she needed me to be." He exhaled sharply. "You see, I expected her to open up to me when _I_ was the one keeping secrets from _her_." He stopped as he remembered his daughter sitting stoically beside him. He looked at her. "I suppose you're feeling a little of that right now." He tilted his head to the side, trying to read her face. "It's not very fair, is it?"

The breeze from her half-open window lifted a few blond tendrils that blew into her eyes. She reached up to tuck them behind her ears. Then, without a word, she placed her hands in her lap and resumed a close study of her fingers.

He took up playing with the loose cushion string again. "I'm sure your mother would have told you about Cal when the time was right. She's not the type of person to lie to someone she loves or avoid talking about the important things." He lowered his eyes. "I am."

"Then _why_ didn't she tell me?" she asked quietly.

"It was a very...difficult time for both of us." He sighed. "It's not easy to talk about."

"But he's the reason you got a divorce." She looked at him. "If it hadn't been for him, you would never have wondered whether I was yours or not." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I would have been the daughter you always wanted." She sniffled. "Instead, I'm the reason you're not together anymore." She turned from him and pushed hard at the car door, escaping onto the sidewalk and running toward the beach.

"Jeannie!" He burst out of the car and chased after her as she weaved between joggers and cyclists on the wide-open path and sprinted over the sand. He slowed as she passed the lifeguard station, conscious of how his pursuit of her might appear, then halted altogether when they reached the wet sand near the water's edge.

She had stopped a few feet in front of him, putting her hands on her thighs and leaning forward to catch her breath. The waves lapped at her boots, soaking her feet inside, but she didn't care. She squatted, resting her hands on her knees and staring at the water, the salt spray mixing with her salty tears and stinging her eyes.

He put his hands on his hips, gathering his own breath, before approaching her slowly. "Jeannie, I need you to listen to me very carefully." He stood a short distance behind her, afraid she'd run again.

She brushed at her tears. "Why should I?"

"Because..." He took a step closer. "I don't want you to make the same mistake I made and lay the blame on the wrong person." He reached down and put his hands on her elbows to lift her up. "Come here," he said gently. "Come back here and sit with me."

She straightened, allowing him to pull her back to the soft, dry sand. She sat beside him with her legs drawn in close as he lowered himself onto the sand, bending his knees in front of him and resting his elbows on them. She kept her eyes focused on the waterline before her.

He glanced at her briefly, then followed her gaze, squinting at the golden sun as it sunk deeper into the horizon. "Do you know why I told you all that about our baby girl?"

She shook her head.

"I told you because it's important you know the kind of person your mother is."

She lifted a corner of her sweatshirt and dabbed at her wet eyes with it. "I probably know better than _you_ do," she returned.

He nodded. "I'm sure you do." He turned to her. "But I'm going to remind you anyway."

She avoided his gaze.

"The point is," he continued, "that despite all the pain I'd caused your mother during that time -- foisting Eve on her when I should have known better, taking the word of a disturbed girl over hers, even keeping the truth about Eve's mother a secret. Despite everything I'd done, your mother still found it in her heart to forgive me." He wrinkled his brow. "I'll never understand how, but she did." He looked out at the ocean again. "And I made the wretched mistake of not doing the same for her when I found out about Cal."

"But Andrew said it wasn't Mama's fault," Jeannie stated firmly.

"He's right. It wasn't." He confirmed, grateful to his son for making that very necessary point. "Cal forced himself on her. He took advantage her. And I was so..."

She glanced at him quickly, seeing his shoulders tense at the thought.

"I was so blinded by hatred for that man..." His eyes remained fixed on the horizon. "Caught up in hating myself for not being there, for failing to protect my family..." He let out a sharp breath. "That instead of facing up to the fact that I couldn't possibly have prevented what happened... Jeannie..." His voice grew faint. "I made the unpardonable mistake of blaming the one person I loved more than anyone else on this earth."

She turned to him completely for the first time, studying the lines on his face.

"I was the worst kind of coward." He ran a hand through his hair. "I blamed your mother for something she couldn't have helped. I blamed her...and I disappeared." He paused, then added bitterly, "Oh, I don't mean literally, though I'm sure you're quite used to that." He felt her eyes on him, but couldn't look at her. "I do that. I shut off, I shut down. I...disappear."

She looked away.

"When I get angry with myself, I retreat from the people I love..." he continued, as the remains of the burnished sun glinted off the water in front of them. "Just when they need me the most, it seems..."

Her eyes glimmered with new tears and she sniffled; the sound brought him back to her. His voice grew stronger. "We discovered you were mine a few months after you were born." His eyes came to rest on her. "And I realize now that if I had allowed myself to think about it clearly in the first place, to think of you and your mother and what really mattered most, I would have known it all along...and I would have fought like hell to keep our family together."

She busied herself with removing her boots and scraping the sand from them. She set them aside, then brushed her hands and stared at her bare feet, digging her toes into the sand.

He let out a controlled breath. "You can't avoid the truth forever. You need to place the blame where it rightly belongs." He kept his eyes steady on her. "I'm the reason your mother and I divorced. It's _my_ fault, Jeannie. Not your mother's…and most definitely not yours."

Following a silence of some minutes, as she slowly absorbed his words, she began tentatively, "But I thought..." She bit her lip, fighting off tears. "When I was in England and I found you...and you were alive...I thought..."

He turned to her, lightly brushing a few wisps of hair from her face. "You thought what?"

"I thought if I didn't ask too many questions...if I just showed you how happy I was you were back..." She shrugged. "I don't know. I thought if I was the perfect daughter..." The tears began to flow. "That you...you wouldn't leave us again."

He quickly put his arm round her shoulders and drew her to him. "Oh, princess, I'm sorry." He encircled her with his other arm and squeezed her tightly. "I'm so sorry." He closed his eyes, listening to her cry softly against his chest. "I never wanted to leave you." He kissed the top of her head. "You must believe that." He rocked her back and forth. "You _must_ believe that."

They sat in the sand for some time, feeling the warmth of the final rays of sunlight before it melted out of sight.

His eyes followed the trail of amethyst and amber clouds it had left in its wake, and he pulled her even closer, putting a hand on her head and stroking her temple. "You know..." He blinked hard as the tears stung his eyes. "You are more…amazing and beautiful and...precious to me than I could have ever imagined possible." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "And I love you. I always have and I always will. Nothing can ever change that."

The tears spilled onto her cheeks as she clung to him a moment. Then she pulled back, rubbing her nose on her jacket sleeve and wiping her eyes. She looked at him, and he could have sworn he heard Peachy's wisdom speaking through her: "Just don't disappear again, okay?"

He reached up and touched her chin lovingly. "I won't," he vowed, his voice catching in his throat. "I won't."


	19. Chapter 18

**Donovan Manor, the following evening**

"Can I get you anything, madam?"

Kimberly looked up at the sound of Simmons's voice. She had been staring into the fire, remembering the day and dwelling on the letter she had just read. Even in death, Peachy managed to speak to her plainly and directly. She tucked the letter into the cushion beside her and smiled at the venerable servant. "No, Simmons. Thank you, I'm fine."

"Let me know if you change your mind," he said warmly and turned to leave.

"Simmons," she called after him.

"Yes, madam?"

She tapped the spot next to her on the rich, brown leather sofa. "Would you sit with me for a minute?"

He looked at her, hesitating. "I'm afraid I feel more comfortable standing."

"Maybe just this once?" Her eyes twinkled.

He gave in and sat down, smoothing his trousers.

"It's getting late," she said. "And you, my friend, are supposed to be relaxing. You're retired, remember? Let Roger do his job."

He sighed, looking over at the fireplace, the worn leather chairs, the family portraits -- a room that was as familiar to him as breathing. "It helps to be useful," he said quietly.

"I know." She patted his knee. "But surely your family would like to see more of you."

He looked over at her. "Oh, they see me plenty." He stood and walked to the fireplace. "No, it's just…" He picked up a poker and pulled back the black iron screen. "I promised his father I'd look after him," he said as he nudged a log and sparks flew up the chimney.

"What was his father like?" Kim asked wistfully. "Shane never talked about him much."

Simmons replaced the screen and poker, steadying himself as he did so by gripping the wide wooden mantle with one hand. "Andrew Donovan was a good man." He straightened. "He built all this himself." His eyes swept the room. "His father, master Shane's grandfather, had gained wealth and prestige through somewhat nefarious means, and Andrew vowed to have nothing to do with him." He rejoined her on the sofa. "So he built up the business on his own…then refurbished this house. He wanted his boys to have the best of everything. And he tried to shield them from the life he had grown up in."

Kimberly eyed him curiously. "What kind of life was that?"

"The boys' grandfather was…" He paused, thinking. "I guess in today's terms, he'd be referred to as a political terrorist."

Kim's eyes widened. "You're joking."

He lifted his eyebrows. "I wish I was." He patted her arm. "I suppose I should elaborate." He stood, and Kim watched him busy himself with rearranging the trinkets and portraits on the mantle. He took a breath. "The boys' grandfather was just a boy himself when his parents and sister were killed by British soldiers in the 1916 uprising. Though it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Thomas Donovan didn't see it that way." He rubbed at the brass clock with the edge of his sleeve. "Tragic thing." He glanced over at her. "Their deaths changed him. Losing your parents so young can change a lad in profound ways."

Kimberly's mind drifted back to her first conversations with Shane about his family. In all the years she'd known him, she could count the number of times he talked about his parents on one hand; he had mentioned a maternal grandmother only once, and a grandfather not at all. As they grew close and fell in love, she sensed that remembering his family was a painful chapter he wished to keep closed. She watched him as he chose, instead, to concentrate on her and Andrew as a way of coping with his loss. And because she loved him, she had allowed him that.

Simmons turned back to the mantle. "Thomas was then taken in by a member of the Irish Republican Army and trained up. He started out as a messenger boy, then graduated to working the docks with the others." He turned to Kim briefly. "You see, in those days, all the money came from bootlegging. One of his group's biggest clients was some mucky-muck in New York -- Owney Madden. They'd sell the alcohol to Kennedy out of Boston who would ship it on to New York. It was a very efficient and profitable system, but..." He turned to a nearby table and situated the photographs in a neat line. "It didn't last forever. At least, Prohibition in America didn't. And as soon as he was old enough, Thomas joined the IRA himself. He was bright and focused and rose through the ranks rather quickly. It helped that he had the foresight to skim a few pounds off the top during his early days. He found he could buy loyalty at rather cut-rate prices."

He returned to Kim's side and sat down. "That alone wouldn't be enough to condemn him, but...he was dissatisfied with the slow pace of things, of how the political process didn't seem to be furthering the cause of independence. And frankly..." He turned to her. "He fell in love with war, the struggle for power, the control over others' destinies. He eventually reached a point where he no longer wished to fight for change. The fighting became the thing all on its own. He chose to wield any power he gained through bribery and gun sales to punish his real or imagined enemies." He stared at the fire. "He eventually broke off from the IRA and formed his own splinter group. Oh, one could never actually prove he was involved in any particular incidents, but back at the height of the Troubles, the car bombings and whatnot, he was very active behind the scenes."

"Shane never mentioned any of this to me," Kimberly said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Simmons shrugged. "Most likely he didn't wish to burden you with it. He's much like his father that way." He sighed. "Matter of fact, we all assumed his grandfather had long since passed. We didn't hear a peep about Tom Donovan for years after the boys' parents' died."

Kim thought for a minute. "But then he resurfaced." She turned to Simmons. "And let me guess: it was right about the time Drew reappeared."

He looked her squarely in the eye. "I've always known you to be a highly astute woman." They exchanged a small smile. "Unfortunately, the sins of the fathers do come back to haunt us, now, don't they? No matter how hard we try to avoid them." She looked down and nodded knowingly. Simmons squinted at a portrait on the far wall. "I'm afraid Drew found that way of life too enticing. And young master Shane has been his brother's keeper ever since."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she asked, "Why are you telling me all this now, Simmons?"

He reached for her hand. "In case it's escaped your notice, my dear, I'm rather old." She covered his hand with hers. "And one tires of bearing secrets. I am hoping that one day soon master Shane will tire of it as well."

She smiled. "The truth will set you free?"

He squeezed her hand before letting go and standing to his feet. "Something like that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll check on miss Jeannie's room and then follow your sage advice and…retire."

"Thank you, Simmons," she said, looking up at him. "Good night."

"Good night, madam," he bowed slightly and left the room.

Kimberly pulled her legs up under her and adjusted the green velvet throw she had wrapped herself in. She reached for her glass of merlot from the side table and took a measured sip, her eyes returning to the fire as she mulled over what she had just learned. How could someone with such a storied past keep it hidden for so long? Then she checked herself. _I suppose it's quite easy when it involves facing too many unpleasant truths._ She knew just how pervasive such lies could be. And, she realized now, Shane had been practicing the art of deception for almost as long as she had, eventually making it his life's work. Perhaps it was all an attempt to right the wrongs effectuated by his grandfather -- by going after the men who so closely resembled him.

She pulled out Peachy's letter and turned it over in her hand once more. She wondered how much Shane's mentor and confidante had known of his past and what advice she would give to her now. Her eyes fell upon the last paragraph: _"You two are like little lost children trapped in a forest of your fears. Neither one of you will find your way out without the other. __I just hope you summon the courage to try, love. You've always been the stronger one..." _It was dated the day after Andrew's attack on the pier. Peachy knew, she had somehow sensed, that the time had come for her to step back. She had held them together long enough.

Kim's eyes filled with tears. _Oh, Peach,_ she cried. _What are we going to do without you?_ She had been their last remaining link to Shane. Whenever the children missed him, or she was worried about him, she could call Peachy and, within a few hours, she'd receive word that he was all right, or even at times, a call from Shane himself. And in those latter, darker years, when Peach could divulge no information about his whereabouts, or even that he was alive, just talking with her made him seem that much more real. It had given her hope when hope was hard to come by. "What would I have done all those years without you?" she wondered aloud. _Probably lost him forever,_ she concluded somberly. Maybe then she could have moved on, fully convinced herself he was dead, buried him along with that empty casket. She could have said good-bye… She fixed her eyes on the last line of the letter: _"I know how very much you've endured, dear heart, but I tell you this as someone who's loved him as a son: he needs you now more than ever."_

She returned her glass to the side table and leaned her head back, her hair forming a golden halo on the sofa cushion behind her. Images of the day flooded her mind. Kate and her husband's extended family had hosted a touchingly beautiful wake. Only five months before, Kate's daughter Ellie had given birth to a boy – Peachy's first great grandchild. They had named him Harold. Kim wiped away her tears and smiled. Then, hearing the front door open, she sat up abruptly, bringing on a sudden wave of dizziness. She shook her head slightly, blinking hard. _Too much wine and too little sleep,_ she told herself. She stuffed Peachy's letter quickly into her pants pocket and drew a steady breath.

Jeannie ran through to the salon, reaching down and hugging her mother in one swift motion. "Hi, Mama."

"Hi, angel," Kim reached up and squeezed her around the neck. "It's so good to see you."

Jeannie settled onto the sofa beside her.

"Are you okay?" Kim asked gently.

"I'm fine." Jeannie turned back to Shane as he followed her in. He smiled at his daughter, removed his heavy coat, and assisted Roger in toting the luggage upstairs.

Kim brushed errant strands of hair away from Jeannie's face. "You must be exhausted."

"I am a little tired." She rolled her eyes playfully. "Dad kept me up talking the _whole_ trip."

"You know what a chatterbox your father can be."

Jeannie flashed her an impish grin. She struggled out of her coat and settled into the crook of the sofa's armrest. "He filled me in on Uncle Drew." Her smile faded.

Kim nodded. "Good. You should know everything." She reached for Jeannie's hand and slowly raised her eyes to hers. She sighed. "And I should have told you everything...about Cal."

"Mama...It's okay," she assured her quietly. "I'm sure it was hard to talk about." She lowered her eyes.

"That's no excuse." Kim shook her head. "I don't want you to _ever_ think we didn't want you. Or that any of it was your fault." She leaned toward her. "What happened between your father and me..." She put a hand to her cheek. "Well, it had nothing to do with how we felt about you -- then or now."

"I know." Jeannie's eyes returned to her mother's.

"I'm so sorry, honey." She clasped Jeannie's hands in her own.

"I know how much he hurt you, Mama," she returned soberly. "You've done nothing to apologize for."

Kim stared at her a moment, taken in by the depth of feeling in her daughter's voice. She watched as Shane stepped up behind Jeannie and squeezed her shoulder. Jeannie glanced back at him, then returned to her mother. "What time's the funeral tomorrow?"

"Around noon," Kim responded, her eyes darting from Jeannie to Shane and back again. "Um, are you guys hungry? Can I get you anything?"

"No." Jeannie sighed with an air of resignation. "Believe it or not, I actually ate airplane food." She wrinkled her nose and added with a mischievous smile: "On a private jet, airplane food takes on a whole new meaning."

Kim swatted her daughter's leg. "You silly goose."

Shane chuckled and walked past them to the fireplace.

"Actually," Jeannie looked from one parent to the other. "I'm pretty tired. I think I'll go to bed now." She leaned in and kissed her mother's cheek. "Good night, Mama."

"'See you in the morning." Kim kissed her fingertips and brought them to Jeannie's cheek. "I love you."

"Love you, too." She stood as Shane turned back to her. "'Night, Daddy."

He leaned down and hugged her tightly. "Sleep well, princess." He pulled away, his hands remaining on her shoulders a minute. "Remember what we talked about. No more than you can carry, all right?"

"Got it." She put her hands on his arms as he brought them down. Then she swiveled on one foot and headed for the foyer.

Kimberly watched her slowly ascend the stairs. "She's letting you call her princess." She glanced at Shane. "I'd say that's progress."

He gave her a tiny smile, then returned to the fireplace, lacing his fingers behind his neck and stretching. He picked up the poker and bent to open the metal screen. "You raised her well, Kimberly." He knelt down and stoked the fire gently. "She's a truly remarkable young woman."

"I can't take _all_ the credit."

He adjusted the screen and turned to her. "Yes. You can."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Shane, what's this 'no more than you can carry' business?'"

He stood up and replaced the poker. "Well, our daughter has got it into her head that she's somehow responsible for the fate of her entire family." He sighed and dropped into the chair facing her. "She seems to think that if she's perfectly well-behaved, nothing bad will ever happen." He rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back.

Kimberly let out a controlled breath.

Shane lifted his head, his eyes settling on hers. "I just told her she shouldn't take on any more than she can carry." He pursed his lips together and touched an index finger to them. "In fact..." He poked his finger in the air as he spoke. "I picked it up from a very highly regarded article in some psychology magazine or other. 'Course I'm paraphrasing, and badly at that."

Kim raised an eyebrow. "I see you've been doing some light reading in your copious spare time."

He gave a little nod. "Broadening my horizons."

She smiled slightly, then turned away and removed the velvet throw from her lap. "Hmm." She draped it over the back of the sofa. "Incredible." She shook her head.

He propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his head on his hand. "Is it so hard to believe I've read your articles?"

"No," she assured him with the trace of a smile. "But that's not what I was referring to." She stood and followed Simmons's earlier path, drawn to the family portraits on a nearby mahogany table. "It's just uncanny." He watched her pick up various photographs and inspect them carefully. "You spend years trying to overcome something, only to find your child has internalized your insecurities without your ever knowing it."

Shane thought for a minute of how adeptly Andrew hid his feelings behind a mask of anger and frustration. She had him there. But then, she'd always understood the human condition better than anyone he'd ever known. He took a deep breath. "So, tell me. How was the wake?"

She set down the picture she was holding and looked over at him. "It was lovely." She continued her trek around the sofa. "Kate and John were sorry you couldn't be there, but they understood." Shane lowered his eyes a minute as he thought of the added burden he had placed on Peachy's daughter by reappearing so suddenly. Kim noted his mood as it began to change; her fingers brushed the edge of an ivory lace doily on the sofa table. "There was quite a mixture of characters there, I'll tell you that." She completed her circle and sat down again. "I saw Nico." Shane raised his eyes to hers. "And Agent Lukacs ducked his head in a minute. He barely said a word to anyone. Oh, and Piers and Anna made the trip over from Stockholm."

It had been awhile since Shane had seen his old friend from the Scandinavian Security Police. "How's Anna doing?" he asked quietly.

"She looks wonderful. Celebrating two years cancer-free." Kim thought of the many phone calls back and forth between herself and Piers when Anna was first diagnosed. She admired how he had handled it. And Anna had been a good friend to her at the time of Shane's...disappearance...or "death." She ran over the words in her mind. She didn't know exactly what to call it anymore. "I think having Piers home with her and the children has made all the difference. He was smart to quit the SSP when he did."

Shane looked away.

Kim silently berated herself. Though she was sincere, she hadn't meant it to come out that way. Her thoughts took her back to Christmas in L.A. with Shane and the children all those years ago. They had discussed -- or rather, argued about -- his leaving the ISA then, and she instinctively knew how much he had wanted to. She was beginning to understand now why he'd felt he couldn't. She took a breath and lifted the timber of her voice. "I met Harry." She smiled sweetly at him.

He returned the smile at the mention of Peachy's great grandson. "I hear he's quite a bruiser."

"He's only six months old, but he's so big. And round!" Her green eyes sparkled. "You just want to pinch every inch of him."

Shane chuckled, then cast his eyes downward, leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and rubbed his hands together slowly.

"It's hard, isn't it?" she said softly.

He sighed heavily. "Yeah."

She gazed intently at the fire. "Before you came in, I sat here thinking of how Peachy was always there for us. She was so steadfast, so faithful. No matter what, you could count on her. She was constantly putting her own feelings, her own life, aside so she could be there when we needed her most." Her eyes stung with new tears at the thought which followed naturally in her mind whenever she considered what Peachy meant to her: "And she never judged me. Not once." He looked up at her, his heart in his throat. She wiped at a tear. "She always believed in me. She didn't even question…" He reached in his hip pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. He handed it to her, his fingertips brushing hers lightly. "Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes met his and lingered.

He wrested his eyes from hers and stood, stepping to the fireplace and fumbling with a few trinkets on the mantle. "She was a good judge of character."

She dabbed at her eyes, then placed the handkerchief in her lap, smoothing it with one hand. "That she was, laddie."

He turned to look at her and she watched him swallow his tears and push the pain down deep inside. _He wasn't ready_. She stood and held out his handkerchief to him. "It's late. I think I'll turn in." He took it from her; her eyes followed his movements as he folded and returned it to his pocket. She licked her lips. "It's been a long couple of days, and tomorrow promises to be just as tough." She started for the stairs.

"Kim…" he began in a low whisper.

She turned.

His eyes searched her face. "I, uh..."

"We should get some rest," she said calmly.

"Of course." He nodded. "You're right."

"Good night, Shane."

He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. "'Night, Kim."

She turned to climb the stairs.

He watched her go, then sank onto the sofa and pulled the velvet throw to his chest, hugging it tightly, his eyes lost in the fire.


	20. Chapter 19

**Donovan Manor, the following morning**

Adjusting the backing to one of her diamond earrings and smoothing her fitted black silk dress, Kimberly walked the hall to the master bedroom and tapped on the partially open door. "Shane…" She pushed the door open. He was standing near the bed, his back to her. "Jeffers was wondering…" Her voice drifted off as she watched him load a 9mm pistol, click the safety on, and tuck it into the rear waistband of his trousers.

He retrieved a black suit coat from the bed and pulled it on. "Sorry?" He glanced over his shoulder at her. "What did you say?"

She cleared her throat softly. "Jeffers would like to know if we'll be taking the same car."

He picked up his wallet from the bedside table and stuffed it in his inside coat pocket. "Tell him we'll be needing two cars," he said, fiddling with silver cufflinks, snapping them into place.

"Morning," Jeannie said quietly as she stepped up behind her mother.

"Morning, honey." Kimberly put a hand on her daughter's arm. "You look pretty."

Dressed in wide-legged trousers, with a matching slate grey jacket and camisole, Jeannie stood with her arms at her sides as if readying herself for inspection. "What do you think, Daddy?" she ventured.

He squared off his tie and turned to look at her, struck once more by how much she looked like her mother. He drank in the sight of the two of them standing a few feet away from him and blinked, verifying they were real. "Beautiful." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled briefly at them both.

Kim turned to Jeannie. "Could you tell Jeffers we'll need two cars, then wait for us downstairs?" She brushed Jeannie's flaxen hair over her shoulder. "In fact, why don't you start breakfast without me. I need to speak with your father."

Jeannie eyed her mother warily. "Okay. Sure." She tossed a sideways glance at Shane, then headed for the stairs.

Kimberly stepped inside the room. "So..." She closed the door and leaned against it. "You're taking a gun to the funeral?"

"Yes." He adopted the professional tone she knew so well. "And I've stepped up security at the church. I spoke with David late last night; he's planning on keeping Andrew at home today."

"I see." She took deliberate steps toward him. "And we're taking separate cars because…?"

"I told Katherine I would leave right after the eulogy." His eyes met the latent challenge in hers. "I originally told her I thought it unwise for me to even attend, but she insisted. I want to minimize the threat to the family's safety as much as possible."

She crossed her arms in front of her, already certain of the answer to her next question. "And you're a threat how?"

He folded his arms, matching her stance. "As this is a highly public event—"

"You expect Drew to show up," she finished.

He shrugged. "It's possible."

"Okay, Shane Donovan." She glanced at the bedside clock. "We have little over half an hour till we leave." She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "And in that time, you are going to tell me everything you know, starting with your grandfather's extracurricular activities for the IRA."

He took a minute to absorb what she had said, then lifted his eyebrows. "You want to discuss this _right_ now?"

"Something about seeing you with a loaded gun makes me want to discuss this right now, yes."

He let out a slow breath. "I need to get there early to set things up." He checked his watch. "I only have about fifteen minutes."

She raised her chin. "Then you'd better start talking."

"Seems I'd better." He unfolded his arms and took her by the elbow, guiding her gently to the bed where they both sat on its edge. "So..." He sighed. "You know about Grandfather." They exchanged a look, as she was sure he wondered where she had gotten her information. "The organization my brother is running -- er, co-running, whatever the devil he calls it -- was started by my grandfather as an underground militia. He supplied weapons, bombs, funding, and sometimes personnel to carry out strategic strikes for the IRA...among other groups willing to pay for his services." Shane positioned himself further up on the bed, keeping his body turned toward her. "Now...Simmons _did_ tell you my father severed all ties with his father before I was born."

"Yes," Kimberly acknowledged unwaveringly, though she couldn't look at him. "He also informed me that Drew got mixed up with him about the time you left Salem."

Shane nodded, taking in her reference and its meaning. What a rough year that had been. Just when he had begun to see through the clutter in his life, the ghosts of his long-forgotten past appeared, demanding to be reckoned with. "Oh, he was 'mixed up' with him well before that. I just didn't know it." He picked at the tiny holes in the pattern of the lace coverlet. "I didn't even know Grandfather was still alive." He looked over at her. "Of course, he didn't stay that way," he added. "Not long after we began investigating, Drew had him killed."

She turned to him abruptly. "What?"

"At least, I _thought_ it was Drew at the time."

She pushed aside the questions she had about Drew so she could focus in on what interested her most: why Shane had rejoined the ISA and left Salem in such a rush. "Wait. The ISA assigned you to the case?" she asked, incredulous.

He looked down. "I requested it."

She let his response sink in. From her conversation with Simmons, she could understand why Shane would want to take personal responsibility. _But wasn't that against the rules?_ She thought for a minute. "And Tarrington allowed you to take the case so that when you discovered his involvement, it would look like _you_ were trying to pin your family's criminal activities on _him?_"

_God, she's brilliant,_ he thought_._ "Exactly." _How he had missed her._ "I can see I won't have to go into the details of why I was captured in Prague."

She cast him a furtive glance, then stood and crossed to the darkened fireplace. She folded her arms to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. "So, if you didn't know your grandfather was alive, how did Drew hook up with him?"

"The ISA mission Drew was on all those years ago, when he was forced into hiding..." He took a deep breath. "Well, it involved more than Stefano DiMera."

She turned back to him. "Your grandfather?"

He nodded. "Apparently, he'd been keeping close tabs on my family for years just waiting for his chance." He moved to the edge of the bed, put his hands on his knees and stood. "He arranged for Stefano to capture Drew as a cover; they began working together shortly after that." He walked to the window on the other side of the room. "Grandfather taught my brother everything he knows." He pushed the curtain aside and looked out over the grounds of the estate. "Later, in exchange for services rendered, Drew worked for Stefano for a time."

She stared at him across the width of the room. "And your parents never knew what really happened to Drew?"

"None of us did. My father suspected Grandfather was involved somehow, but could never prove it. Then the trail led to Stefano, and Drew was released into what we thought was protective custody." She watched him intently as he kept his eyes fixed out the window. He set his jaw and carried on, "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure Father ever believed the official story." He shrugged his shoulders. "Then my parents...died and..." His voice trailed off.

She sensed there was more to it but decided not to pursue it for the moment. She took a few tentative steps to close the distance between them, growing more and more uneasy with each step. "And this man you were tracking -- Drew's boss -- what does he want from you?" She stopped inches away from him.

"Near as I can figure, he's obsessed with having a Donovan at the head of Grandfather's operation." He turned his body toward her, but avoided looking at her, focusing on the carpeting and the whirl of thoughts in his head. "Though he's had Drew all this time, so it doesn't make any sense." He sighed. "Nevertheless, when he failed to recruit me -- or force me into it, would be the better term -- he moved on." He hesitated, then continued cautiously. "I'm sorry, Kim. I've tried to spare you..."

"He wants Andrew," she concluded breathlessly.

He looked up at her, gauging her reaction as she came to a full realization of what they were up against. "I'm afraid so."

She took a step backward, bracing herself against the bedpost and inhaling deeply. "But why? What would he want with Andrew?"

"I don't know. Maybe as a way of getting to me..."

"How long have you known this?" she asked icily.

"Kim..." He reached for her.

She glared at him. "How long?"

He dropped his hands to his sides. "Several years. The closer I got to destroying Grandfather's organization, the more desperate their tactics became. I took every precaution --"

"Of course," she interrupted. "That year in England...You and Andrew traveling together..." She turned away from him, returning to the darkened fireplace, staring at the ashy black powder that stained the solid brick opening. "I just _knew_ there was more to that."

"My diversions worked for a while... " Shane crossed the room and approached her slowly. "Then Drew showed up in Salem posing as me..." He lowered his eyes. "And I started receiving threats..."

"Threats?" She whirled round to face him. "What kind of threats?"

He eyed her carefully. "There were photographs, phone calls, messages..." He swallowed hard. "Drew was targeting you and the children -- Andrew in particular."

"There were threats to Andrew's life and you never told me?" Her eyes flashed at him. "How could you keep something like that from me, when you _know_ how..." She bit her lip. "You know what it would do to me to lose him..."

"I couldn't put you through that again." He drew an uneven breath. "Not when it was within my power to prevent it," he said more firmly. "As long as Drew was locked up and _I_ was on the offensive, the threats subsided. No one bothered with you and the children; they were too concerned with their own livelihoods. Andrew was safe..." He stopped.

"Until that night on the pier," she shot back bitterly.

"Yes." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"When Andrew was nearly killed..." Her voice faltered.

He balled his hands into fists at his sides.

"By Cal of all people!"

"Yes!" He spat out.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth to collect himself.

She turned away from him and lowered her voice. "You said if you even suspected the children were in danger, you'd tell me." She backed away, holding up her hands, holding him at bay. "You promised."

His jaw twitched as he squinted at her, remembering his words to her that final day in Rome. "I promised. But protecting you and the children was more important."

She raised flinty eyes to his. "Nothing is more important than the truth."

He watched her turn slowly and walk away from him.

When she reached the door, she turned her head slightly. "We'll see you at the church," she declared stiffly. Then she opened the door and stepped through to the hallway without looking back.

* * *

**The gravel drive outside Donovan Manor**

"Sir, I really think Devon should drive you." Jeffers stepped up to a nondescript, black sedan as Shane finished inspecting the vehicle and opened the right driver's side door. "At the very least, take him along as backup," he suggested.

Shane tossed him a hard look. "Don't waste a man on me." He nodded to a twin sedan in the drive and the suburban parked behind it. "Besides, you'll need the coverage to escort Kimberly and Jeannie to the church." He held up a hand to squelch any further protest. "I'll be sure to use him on the return trip."

"Yes, sir. Whatever you say." Jeffers stepped back; then after a careful eye-sweep of the grounds, he returned indoors.

Shane glanced around quickly and climbed into the car, adjusting his rearview mirror and seat belt. Then he drove off, being sure to take the side roads, eyeballing the GPS monitor on the dashboard, equipped with additional video satellite surveillance should he require it. Jeffers had a valid point. It was foolish of him to go alone, but he needed the time to think. He turned onto an access road in the direction of east London and switched on his windshield wipers as a light drizzle began to fall. He wished it were as easy to wipe the look of betrayal in Kimberly's eyes from his mind. He had seen it far too many times before and, more often than he could stand, been the root cause of it. It always cut him to the quick and made all his hard-won rationalizations crumble to dust and blow away like so much chaff in the wind. _I did the right thing. I had no choice._ That's what he'd told himself over and over, sometimes daily, like a mantra, despite his nagging doubts, _and_ -- a thin smile pricked at the corners of his mouth -- Peachy's constant harping in his ear.

She never worried about the danger inherent in assisting him as he infiltrated his grandfather's organization with the secret aim of gutting it from within. As was her way, Peachy seemed to think only of him and the people who mattered most to him. In the end, she'd grudgingly agreed to keep his secret from Kimberly and the children, but she made it her personal mission to remind him, sometimes by the hour, of how very much she disapproved of the whole sordid business. He recalled when he'd first revealed his plan to her, and her reaction...

_Ciudad del Este, southeastern Paraguay, November, 2002_

_"You're out of your tree!"_

_Shane held the phone away from his ear as Peachy's voice exploded through it._

_"Why..." she continued, "it's the most addle-headed scheme I've ever heard!"_

_"But you think it'll work," Shane countered._

_"Don't interrupt me, laddie!" she said sternly. "I think it's certifiable..."_

_Shane listened half-heartedly to the rest of her impassioned diatribe, as he weaved through the myriad of outdoor market stalls and trucks unloading cd players, televisions, and computers. It was no secret that one of the world's thriving black markets in overpriced electronics was located here on the crowded border of Paraguay and Brazil. But recent intelligence indicated that this pocket of freewheeling capitalism housed one thing more: an Al Qaeda cell, the ISA's -- hell, everyone's -- number one target and the focus of Shane's mission._

_After a string of successful sting operations had rendered Drew's organization virtually helpless and driven him underground, Shane was relieved for the chance to finally work a case wholly unrelated to him in any way. _

_A motorscooter whizzed by and tooted its horn at him as he ducked into a glass-front shop filled with second-hand T-shirts with American sports teams and vacation destinations emblazoned on them. __Finding space between her words at last, Shane inserted, "Have you seen the latest surveillance reports?"_

_There was a moment of quiet on the line, then Peachy responded, "Yes, I have."_

_"Then you know about the increased activity around the beach house in L.A." A teenage boy behind the counter handed Shane a fax. He tossed him a quick "obrigado" before disappearing through a back door. "Add that to John Black's phone call about Drew appearing in Salem pretending to be me..." He rumbled __down a flight of stairs and entered a spacious, red-clay bunker underneath the store.  
_

_"Yes. It would appear your brother's come out of hiding, and he was never very subtle about it." He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "Still, we've seen this kind of thing before," she replied, attempting to placate him. "Just increase security around Kim and the children and send someone to intercept Drew in Salem."_

_"I've done all that, Peach." He nodded to two men seated at a bank of video monitors, stepped into a closet-sized room in the corner, and shut the door. "The intercept failed. And Billie's been shot." Switching on an overhead lamp, he dropped into a ripped vinyl chair and fired up his computer. "It's a complete and utter mess up there, and I promised John I'd do everything in my power to help. Not to mention the fact Hope's still missing." He scanned the fax the boy had given him. "Bo must be going out of his mind."_

_"He still refuses to believe she's dead?"_

_"Yes. And, frankly, so do I." He paused for a moment, taking in the contents of Mitchell's message. Fortunately for Shane, he found the new head of the ISA to be someone he not only respected but could trust implicitly. They had worked together on several occasions, but none as satisfying as the investigation into Tarrington's personal finances that led to his taking early retirement. Victories over corruption within The Company were small but enjoyable. Now Mitchell had given him all the clearance he needed to put his plan into action. "I guess I'll just have to see for myself when I get to Salem."_

_"So you're going through with it." Peachy's voice was tinged with worry. "Sometimes I wonder why you even bother to ask my opinion."_

_The computer monitor blinked at him; he checked the code at the bottom of the fax and punched it in. A set of building schematics popped up on screen. "Because I value it. You know that." He leaned his head back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly. "I have to do this. Drew's been determined to throw me off ever since I escaped from Prague, and I've weathered his attempts just fine..." He thought back over the many times Drew had impersonated him over the years. __It seemed to be Drew's way of reminding his brother that he was watching, an at-times desperate attempt at intimidation. At first, Drew's schemes proved successful: Shane's professional reputation suffered as Drew strategically replaced him on assignments, purposefully sabotaging many of them while leaking classified information to his own store-bought operatives. Things got so bad at one point, the ISA launched an internal investigation that made the espionage incident in Stockholm look like a grammar school picnic._

_"But this time is different," Shane continued earnestly. "He's deliberately chosen to target the people I care about." He opened his eyes and stared at the concrete ceiling. "And I'm not just talking about his interference in Salem." He sighed heavily. "You saw those photos, Peachy." He remembered the day he had opened his_ _secure uplink expecting instructions for this latest op and finding random surveillance photos instead: one of Jeannie at the dance studio, of Kimberly at the clinic, and lastly, several pictures of Andrew playing soccer with some friends at school. On one of the photographs, Andrew's figure had been zoomed in on and circled carefully. His brother had upped the ante. What he didn't understand was why._

_Peachy let out a measured breath. "Yes. He knows exactly how to get to you, doesn't he? But do you honestly think him capable of hurting Andrew?"_

_"After what he's done to me, anything's possible." __He leaned over and clicked on the small fan by his desk. __Though a good ten to fifteen degrees cooler than upstairs, it was still bloody hot. He'd almost forgotten the feel of summers below the equator. __"I'm not willing to take chances with Andrew's life."_

_A few minutes ticked by as Peachy formulated how to ask her next question. "__Have you thought it through, lad? I mean _really_ thought it through? My God, the impact this will have on Jeannie and Andrew..." _And on Kimberly, _she finished silently, knowing it to be a sensitive subject. "To lose their father. You of all people know what that's like."_

_"Peachy, I..."_

_"How could you even consider doing that to them?"_

_"Believe me, I haven't come to this decision lightly," he replied in a hushed tone. "I've gone over and over it, and I can't help thinking..." He ran a hand over his whiskers. "I'm not the kind of father to them I ought to be." Peachy started to object, but he stopped her. "Oh, come on, Peach. You can't argue with that. My involvement in their lives, especially these last few years, has been nominal at best."_

_"That couldn't be helped, laddie."_

_"I know, I know. And that's just the point. Until I have some kind of resolve on this business with my family, I can't be there for them. Not in the way they need me to be." He pictured the tattered photo of them he carried in his wallet. He didn't even have to take it out anymore to know every contour of their faces. "Truth is, I'm only half there now. And maybe...maybe if I'm not there at all, they'll finally be able to move on with their lives..."_

_"We're no longer talking about the children, are we, Shane?"_

_Silence permeated the line._

_"All right," Peachy said gently. "I won't press you on it. Just, please, put some thought to what I've said."_

_"I will." He'd been unable to think of anything else._ _But there was no time for second-guessing. As soon as he apprehended his brother and sorted things out in Salem, he would quite simply disappear. It was the best thing for everyone concerned. _

_Peachy closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his fateful decision and wishing beyond hope she could somehow convince him to change his mind. "You know, laddie, once you go down this path, there's no turning back." Her voice grew quiet. "And you might find that, even if you do manage to finish things off with your brother once and for all, the sacrifice was too great."_

Peachy's words echoed in his head as Shane pulled up to the secluded, white and gray stone chapel at the end of a quiet, country lane. He alighted from the car and shut the door, leaning back and tilting his head upward, taking in the simple bell-spire that rose above the arched entranceway. He then looked about him, his mind recording the scene: a sequestered neighborhood, far away from the bustle of the city, with plenty of open, well-manicured lawns for children's soccer games, and tall trees for climbing. The church stood where the road dropped off and, though the building itself was quaint and unassuming, the grounds were extensive. A modest cemetery stretched out to one side, backed by a thatch of trees, and the first of many gardens extended beyond the trees and over a hill behind the church. It was just like Peach to call this peaceful, bucolic chapel her spiritual home; it was charmingly unpretentious and, he noted, easy to set up a security perimeter around. She had thought of everything.

After checking in with his agents and completing a cursory tour of the grounds, he met up with Peachy's family, taking a few moments to console Kate, who then arranged for him to be alone with Peachy before the mourners started to trickle in. He strode silently up the center aisle and approached the casket slowly. It was open for him, but, he was told, would be closed for the ceremony to follow. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath, then stepped up to the casket's edge and peered down at her. It was foreign to see her lying motionless, with no expression on that expressive face, no glint or fire to her eyes -- the calm now reflected in her surroundings rather than emanating from the very center of her being. He ran a hand along the ivory satin pillow cushioning her head, then touched her temple lightly. _You were right, Peach. You were right about everything._ He sighed. _I should never have left them._ He put a hand over hers. _I'm sorry I put you in the middle. But I needed you to be there when I couldn't be._ He blinked away tears. _Thank you. Thank you for being there._ He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Then he straightened and brushed at the hair near her temple one last time. And, despite knowing he would receive no answer, he couldn't resist asking: _But what do I do now?_ He lifted his eyes to the altar. "What do I do now?"

* * *

**A stone country church on the outskirts of London**

A pale light shone through arched stained-glass windows, bathing the cozy church, with its wide stone altar, in muted reds, yellows, and greens. The organist played the last strains of "Ave Maria," and the robed young priest stood again to address the crowd of close-knit souls tucked into rows of stark, wooden pews. Seated in one of the front pews between Shane and Jeannie, Kimberly stole a quick look across the aisle at Kate and John and their four children. Peachy's grandchildren filled a pew behind them. Her eyes continued past them, catching hold of a sunny blonde's bright blue eyes for a minute. Anna attempted a reassuring smile and Kim returned it gratefully. She took in other faces in the crowd -- some familiar, some distantly so. Some she was certain were more acquainted with her and Jeannie than she was with them. Perhaps they'd even surveilled her on occasion. _At least they're a quiet bunch_, she mused. The church was filled to capacity, but the silence was deafening. She noticed Agent Lukacs seated near the back, almost lost in the sea of faces without his signature fedora. She turned her eyes back to the closed cherry wood casket positioned at the side of the altar. It was draped in white roses, calla lilies, and wide silk ribbons. Two candelabras flanked it on either side, their lighted, tapered candles reflecting off the dark wood like diamonds or flickering stars.

The priest led them in a solemn prayer, then motioned to Shane. Kim could almost feel him as he stood to his feet and walked to the dais, pulling a single sheet of paper from his breast pocket as he did so. She watched him scan the sanctuary with practiced eyes that then came to rest temporarily on Peachy's family. "Lavinia -- " He cut himself off, smiling at a distant memory. "She'd throttle me for calling her that." A collective chuckle echoed through the chamber. He lifted his eyes heavenward apologetically, then said with conviction: "_Peachy_...always teased me that I had a gift for high and lofty speeches. She called it the Irish in me." He looked down briefly, all traces of levity evaporating from his voice. "I can't honestly say I agree with her -- especially today, when I look out at her loved ones and friends and find myself…hopelessly bereft of words." He took a shaky breath. "For, what can be said in the silence that follows the significant loss of someone who meant so very much to each and every one assembled here? It seems more fitting to let the stillness speak for us – to let it confirm her absence and substantiate our grief, to give meaning to our sadness." He paused, lowering his head and gathering himself.

Kimberly reached for Jeannie's hand and gave it a loving squeeze. She couldn't take her eyes off Shane. It was as if she could feel his every leaden breath as her own and, she admitted, taking her daughter's hand had been more for her own comfort than for Jeannie's. It was the only way she could find to steady herself.

Returning his eyes to Kate's family, Shane continued, "We are all so blessed to be able to claim her as mother and grandmother, aunt, teacher, and friend. She poured her life into others, and we are all the better, the more honest, the more complete for her sacrifice. Perhaps another reason for the quiet of this moment is that she left so little unsaid in her life. She was the wisest woman I have ever known, and she taught me many things, not just about the particulars of our profession, but about life – and more importantly, about people." His somber eyes sought Kimberly's. "Someone reminded me recently of how very clearly Peachy was able to read people, how she could discern their true natures…That once she believed in you, her faith never wavered." He furrowed his brow as he looked at Kimberly, attempting to reach past the protective wall she had constructed behind a veil of tears. _The sacrifice may indeed have been too great, _he conceded_._ He sighed heavily and looked away, retrieving his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and putting them on. He unfolded the sheet of paper and cleared his throat. "It brought to mind this poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, one of Peachy's favorites:

___'Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace to look through and behind this mask of me (against which years have beat thus blenchingly...with their rains), and behold my soul's true face, the dim and weary witness of life's race– _

___Because thou hast the faith and love to see, through that same soul's distracting lethargy, the patient angel waiting for a place in the new Heavens – _

___Because nor sin nor woe, nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, nor all which others viewing, turn to go, nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed -- _

___Nothing repels thee . . . dearest, teach me so to pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good.'"_

He removed his glasses and folded the paper neatly on the podium. His eyes then traveled up the center aisle to the rear of the chapel just as a dark figure exited the building. He hesitated. Catching the direction of his gaze, a trim, athletic man with closely clipped white hair looked up at him and started to stand. Shane met Piers's clear blue stare and shook his head almost imperceptively. Piers looked over at Kimberly, gave a slight nod, and returned to his seat, taking Anna's hand in his.

Shane tucked his glasses and the poem back in his pocket. He drew a breath. "And so, we say good-bye...dear friend...and thank you. We pour out our gratitude for the gifts you gave us -- the most precious of which was that of yourself." He looked down, struggling with the words. "You will be sorely missed." Then he crossed to the casket and laid both hands on it, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

Kimberly's eyes followed him attentively as he walked over to Kate and her family, hugging them one by one. He raised his head and nodded briskly at Agent Lukacs, who advanced a set of pews, settling in directly behind Peachy's family, as Jeffers moved into position behind Jeannie. Shane then retrieved his coat and leaned down and whispered to Kim, "Take Jeannie home."

She blinked up at him and stopped just short of turning her head toward the door. "He's here, isn't he?"

He nodded and turned to leave.

"Shane..." She grabbed his arm.

He turned back to her, his eyes boring into hers. "Kim. Go home. _Now_."

He watched her struggle with her emotions, longing desperately to make things right with her. His voice softened. "If you trust me with nothing else, you _need_ to trust me with this." He reached for her hand. "Kim, please." She pulled it away, let out a resigned breath, and nodded.

Slipping on his overcoat, Shane spotted Nico as he slid stealthily out of his pew, one hand solidly on his gun holster, and bolted for the door. Shane made his way swiftly up the opposite side aisle. When he reached the vestibule, he turned back for one final look. Then, pulling his own weapon and releasing the safety, he stepped through the front door and out into the afternoon haze.


	21. Chapter 20

**Outside a small, stone country church, London, 2:10 p.m.**

Shane pointed the gun barrel upward, holding it close to his chest as he stepped out into the grey, cloud-covered day. He looked around briefly. The street in front of the church was deserted, lined with cars for the funeral. He turned to his right, peering round the south corner of the church, as a damp wind ruffled his coat and hair. He squinted at the small cemetery and the lines of crumbling tombstones, then turned back to cover the other side, just as Nico came rushing up to greet him. "Anyone?" Shane muttered to him sotto voce. A breathless Nico only shook his head.

Conscious that Piers and Jeffers would most likely escort Kimberly and Jeannie out the front door any minute, Shane motioned for Nico to follow him, and they headed round the south side of the church to the cemetery. Shane tucked his gun in his waistband, pulled a wireless headset from his pocket, and adjusted it around his ear. Eyes darting back and forth as he surveyed his surroundings, he pushed a corresponding button on a phone clipped to his belt.

"Phipps here." He heard a man say.

"Have you been able to raise Halpern yet?" Shane asked.

"Not yet, sir."

"Keep trying," Shane demanded. "And I want you and your team to stay out of sight for now." He didn't want to cause a scene for the mourners as they exited the church. "I'll give you the signal. Oh, and remember: I want him alive."

"Yes, sir," Phipps returned, and clicked off.

Shane turned to Nico. "You have the information I sent you on the inside man?"

Nico nodded. "Oliver. 6' 3". Blond. Hard to miss."

"Yes, well, I checked him out a few months ago. He seemed disposed to provide us with the information we need -- for the right price." They exchanged looks. "It shouldn't be too difficult to turn him."

"I shall do my best." Nico bowed slightly.

Shane patted his friend's arm and smiled. "You always do." They sidled over to the church together. "The funeral's over," Shane observed quietly, catching sight of people climbing into their cars and driving off. He pulled Nico out of view behind a row of tall bushes, then planted himself near the church wall between the stained glass windows.

Nico cast him a sympathetic glance, while double-checking his gun and ammunition. "I shall be on the north side," he informed him.

Shane nodded to him, then gasped as his breath caught in his chest. "Damn and blast," he grunted, as the familiar tendrils of sharp pain began to close in over his head, neck, and shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut and bent down over his knees, taking slow, measured breaths.

"Donovan?" Nico safetied his gun and leaned over him. "Are you okay?" He remembered these attacks from before. The headset in Shane's ear blinked yellow. Nico pulled it off and put it to his ear. "No, no. It's Nico. A moment..." He put a hand on Shane's back. "Are we to call it off?"

As the dizziness set in, Shane pressed himself against the wall and sank to the ground slowly, bracing himself with his hands on the hard ground. "No." He gritted his teeth. "Just..." He took a hard breath. "Give me a minute."

The attacks were becoming less frequent in the years since he'd been taken to that cold, windowless building on the outskirts of Prague and forced to undergo the worst physical, psychological, and emotional torture of his life. Memories of that time came to him in flashes of blinding light: the days without food or water, the beatings, the hallucinogenics, the sleep and light deprivation -- and finally, the behavior modification sessions. Had he not lived through it, he would have sworn it never happened. It seemed almost like a bad dream, one he could never quite wake from. But the whole horrifying experience had one unintended consequence: he remembered. He remembered everything -- not just snippets, like old film clips, but every thought, feeling, and gesture. For the first time since he'd stumbled out of the woods without a past or a name, he knew who he really was. And living with the man he had become in the years since sobered and terrified him at the same time. He pushed the flood of memories to the back of his mind and concentrated on the present and his breathing.

Nico notified the team they were continuing the operation, then dropped the ear piece in Shane's lap. "I must move into place," he said, anxiously scanning the churchyard.

Shane nodded and gestured weakly. "Go."

"I shall watch for you," Nico promised, then darted through the bushes and around the front of the church to take up his post.

Shane took an enormous breath, and though it stung to do so, he opened his eyes and pushed himself to an upright position. He steadied himself against the wall, willing the pain to subside. He returned the headset to his pocket, took a few quick breaths, and stumbled toward the back of the church and a well-tended but dormant rose garden. Through blurred vision, he spotted a stone archway in the middle of the garden and rushed to it, leaning against it and closing his eyes once more.

"Have you blacked out yet?" came a low, mocking voice from beneath the portico of the church veranda behind him.

Shane gathered his strength, and as the pain lessened, he turned round, blinking at his brother.

"Oh, that's right." Drew clapped his hands together. "You left our little training program before it was finished." Dressed similarly to Shane, in a black overcoat and Armani suit, he stepped onto the dirt garden path before shoving his hands in his coat pockets. He clicked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. You know, you really should get your money back."

Shane took one, long controlled breath and straightened. "Actually, I believe it's _you_ who hasn't quite gotten your money's worth."

Drew shook his head, smiling. "Don't be too sure. I do so enjoy other people's pain." He looked at Shane. "By the way, how is my nephew feeling these days?"

Shane clenched his fists at his sides. "You know, it's the strangest thing," he said, his eyes flashing dangerously. "He seems to think your operative was out to kill him." He inched toward him. "Now, that couldn't possibly be right, could it? You wouldn't be so utterly foolish as to have my son killed, would you?" He grabbed Drew's collar and spun him round, pushing him hard against one side of the stone archway and pressing a forearm to his windpipe. "Would you?!"

Drew reached for Shane's arm, attempting to loosen his grip. "I…was…not…" he gasped, unable to continue.

Shane's jaw twitched, then he spat out, "If you or any of your men so much as sneezes in the direction of my son again, you will become intimately acquainted with a new category of pain!" He pressed his arm against Drew's throat for emphasis, then set him free, watching him bend over, sputtering and coughing.

"That…was..." Drew gulped, sucking in air, "a little excessive."

Shane narrowed his eyes. "Excessive? Oh, that was _nothing_. I'd call that man's attack on Andrew excessive!"

Drew sniffed, then slowly straightened to his full height. "You can't even say his name, can you?" He ran a hand over his coat sleeves to shed the effects of their encounter. "You should know I am not at all happy with Winters," he continued. "I am the only one allowed to improvise on assignment."

"I'd be more than happy to show him the error of his ways," Shane said through clenched teeth.

"I'm sure you would," Drew returned. "And you could give him a little message from me...but I'm not likely to tell you where you can find him, now, am I?" He looked away briefly. "Even _if_ I knew," he added under his breath.

Shane took a moment to compose himself, then stepped back, surveying the rising hill behind the church and a copse of trees to his left past a dilapidated wooden fence.

Drew followed his brother's gaze. "You should be more careful. You know I don't travel alone."

Shane rubbed his hands together, blowing into them for warmth. "You brought five with you today." He looked back at Drew. "I'm assuming they're only equipped for sight surveillance. Even you wouldn't be careless enough to let them listen in." He arched an eyebrow at him. "I noticed they didn't move an inch just now. Are you sure they're loyal to you?" He lowered his voice. "Or maybe they're just getting us confused. It's happened before."

Drew stiffened. "Yes, it has. Why do you think your security detail is nowhere to be found? Two can play at that little game, and I'm afraid I've been playing it a lot longer than you have."

Shane thrust his hands in his coat pockets and glanced behind them to his left. "You don't even know where to look, little brother."

Drew squinted at the rows of tombstones in the old cemetery. He could barely make out the form of at least one man shadowing a nearby tree, but he did notice that the once quiet street was now a bustling hive of activity. Two men dressed in street clothes conversed on the sidewalk as a man and woman walking a dog passed by, followed by another man jogging.

"You forget," Shane pointed out, "I'm _better_ at this particular game than you are."

Drew shifted nervously from one leg to the other, then adopted a conciliatory air. "I'm awfully sorry about Peachy, mate. I know how much _Miss Marple_ meant to you." He stepped around Shane cautiously. "Though, she does hold a grudge, that one." He held an index finger to the air. "Don't think she ever quite forgave me for arranging Gabrielle's little sojourn in Salem." He turned back to Shane. "How _did_ that go, by the way?" He grinned maliciously.

Shane chose to ignore him. "Talking of Ms. Pascal..."

"Shame about what happened to her, isn't it?" Drew shook his head with practiced dejection.

"Mind filling me in?"

"You know, for all her legal..._prowess_..." He glanced pointedly at Shane. "Gaby didn't possess the most agile of intellects, did she? She somehow got it into her mind I was planning a breakout." He resumed his meandering stroll, following a close, calculated circle. "Don't know where she got the misguided notion to warn you. Seems, after all our time together, she still held a torch for you." He stopped and shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised. People always chose you over me."

"Spare me the theatrics. We're well past that," Shane drawled. "What have you done with Eve?" he inquired dispassionately.

Drew narrowed his eyes to mischievous slits. "Now, what _can_ one really do with Eve?"

Shane pursed his lips together impatiently.

"You needn't concern yourself with her any longer," Drew replied, waving a dismissive hand. He then looked away, scanning the horizon over a distant hill. "By the way, I never really thanked you for taking such good care of her." He returned his hands to his pockets. "And that wife of yours! Ever the gifted counselor. She almost _fixed _her." He furrowed his brow. "Good Lord, what a disappointment _that_ would have been! I shudder at the thought." He lifted his shoulders and shook them as if caught by a sudden chill.

Shane took a deep breath to cover his irritation. "Why are you here, Drew?" He lifted his chin. "You didn't come to trade barbs with me about your recalcitrant offspring."

"Yet, what an appropriate topic of conversation: offspring." Drew matched Shane's hard stare. "You know what we want, dear brother. Or, shall I say, _who?_"

Shane nodded, then removed his hands from his pockets and put a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "_We_. 'Who _we_ want_,_" he repeated. He crossed his arms and began pacing in front of Drew, careful not to turn his back on Drew's men for long. "That makes you merely a messenger, doesn't it?" He stopped, leaned in, and said into Drew's ear, "Or someone's errand boy. Either way, it was hardly worth the trip." He glared at him. "You will never, ever get him. Do you understand?"

"Brave words." Drew countered, undaunted. "But you can't stop him from trying. Just as you were powerless to stop Grandfather from getting to me, you can't stop us from taking Andrew now. It's only a matter of time." He cocked his head to the side. "You know, after all these years, I thought you would have finally learnt your lesson. You honestly think you can outsmart him. It can't be done. Father tried, and look where it got him." They exchanged a knowing look.

"From what I can see, you're not too far behind," Shane said brusquely. "In case you haven't noticed, you are at a significant disadvantage at present, and I think you know that. Don't tell me you deliberately put your life at risk today just to spout off the same old tired threats." He squinted at him, his deep voice resonating. "I know you better than that."

"Do you?" He chuckled. "See, I find that rather amusing -- _you_ knowing anything at all about _me_."

"Oh, I know far more than you think, Drew." He rubbed his hands together. "Remember, I _was_ you for five years. I've walked more than a few squalid miles in your shoes, and I can see even now how very disconcerting that must have been for you. Or, more importantly, for your boss." He leaned toward him and raised his eyebrows. "He wants to know how much I know, doesn't he? This is a fishing expedition, and you're the simpering guppy he's tossed out as bait."

"Perhaps." Drew tilted his head. "But, believe it or not, I came here to warn you." He leveled his eyes dead-even with his brother's. "The only reason you are alive today, Shane, is because he wants you to be." He inhaled sharply. "He knew. Practically the whole time you were pretending to be me, he knew. Even as you systematically disemboweled everything Grandfather built...that _I_ helped Grandfather build over the years..." He put a hand to his chest, the tenor of his voice approaching shrill. "That _I_ alone was responsible for -- _my_ legacy! -- _he_ just sat by and watched you destroy it all for sport!" He narrowed his eyes. "You see, this has been going on a lot longer than you realize -- since before you and I were ever born, and more importantly for you..." He pointed at him. "Since _Andrew's_ birth. There are people involved in this from the beginning that you've been too blind or ignorant to notice. And I'm here to tell you they're about to make their move."

Shane blinked at him, nonplussed. "That sounded sufficiently ominous, Drew. Did it take long to rehearse?"

"Oh, this is no longer a dress rehearsal. We're caught up in the real thing now." Drew made another full eye-sweep of the churchyard and surrounding gardens, keeping his hands tucked deep in his pockets. Then he turned back to Shane, facing him head-on. "So...aren't you going to arrest me? Throw me back in jail?"

"You almost sound as if you want me to," Shane observed. "After your giant misstep with Winters, I would imagine your boss isn't at all pleased with your present level of performance. He might think you're starting to get a little careless..." He arched an eyebrow. "That you're expendable."

Drew stared at him. "But _you_ need me, don't you?"

"For the moment," Shane admitted. "And you need to be needed." A light and cool breeze ruffled the collar on his overcoat as he raised his eyes, scanning the open field behind his brother. "As you can probably guess, we've been unable to pin down your boss's whereabouts for more than thirty minutes at a stretch." He returned his gaze to his brother's face, taking his measure carefully. "I want you to lead me to him."

"Nothing like a good, old-fashioned fox hunt," Drew said in an artificially light voice.

"If you prefer to see it that way."

Several minutes passed as Drew considered his options.

"So..." Shane broke the silence. "Will you do it?"

"Seems I don't have much choice," Drew said fatefully.

Shane motioned to his left, and two men emerged from the cemetery shadows. A solidly built man with a shaved head stepped up to him. Shane turned to him. "Escort our friend and his entourage to their vehicles, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Phipps returned. He rounded up two men, who jumped the fence and ran off into the small thatch of trees, dispersing a set of Drew's men and herding them a couple of streets down. Then Phipps led two other agents behind Drew and toward the hilly backfield.

Drew eyed Shane. "Best of luck to you."

"Funny." Shane let out a low sardonic chuckle. "I was going to say the same thing to you."

And for a brief flash they were twin boys playing tricks on each other, chasing one another through the wooded grounds of their country estate, running until they were out of breath and could run no more. Then the moment quietly dissipated.

Drew nodded, then turned and walked off, following the route taken by Phipps and his agents.

Shane lifted his head and watched him go.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Drew called back suddenly. "There is another reason I came here today." He stopped. "To give you something. Call it a thank-you gift." He whirled around. "This is for locking me up for five years, _bro_." Holding a semi-automatic pistol firmly in hand, he aimed it directly at Shane and fired.

* * *

**Donovan House, Salem, mid-morning**

Settled on the sofa, Andrew balanced an open book of case law on his casted leg and swiveled at the waist to type something into the laptop set up on the coffee table next to him. He stretched back to retrieve his teacup and saucer from the side table as the doorbell rang. Unable to keep up the balancing act, he faltered a moment, dropping his cup of tea and spilling its contents on the floor. "Oh, sh--!" He wiped frantically with an arm-sleeve at the few drops of Earl Grey that landed on the keyboard. The doorbell rang a second time. "David?" He shifted his body, putting his good leg on the floor and swinging his left leg forward, sending the heavy book crashing onto his bare toes. "Dammit!" _Where the _hell_ is my babysitter? he grumped. Being confined to this house all day is bad enough. _"David, can you, _please._..?"

"I'll get that." David Halpern strolled into the room from the back hallway and dropped a clean towel over Andrew's shoulder. "If you don't mind seeing to _that." _He eyed the spilt tea as he breezed past the couch and headed for the front door.

Though he swore up and down against it, Andrew still suspected the astute ISA man of monitoring the room. "Why, thank you, Jeeves." Andrew rolled his eyes. "You seem to know what I need before I even ask." He bent over and began soaking up the tea with the cotton rag.

David tossed him a wide, over-the-shoulder grin and jerked open the front door. His smile faded. "Victor Kiriakis."

Dressed in a gray, woollen overcoat to ward off the still-chilled, mid-February air, Victor pressed his lips together, then said superciliously, "Good morning, Agent Halpern."

"What a pleasant --" David quickly corrected himself. "Er, what a...surprise." He gestured with an arm. "Won't you come in?"

"Don't mind if I do." Victor nodded to a lumbering man behind him who braced himself against the cold, prepared, as ever, to remain outside while his boss conducted business inside. The man handed Victor a china plate covered in saran wrap, and Victor stepped inside as David blinked at the bodyguard and shut the door on him.

Andrew reached for his cane, which he felt salvaged his dignity somewhat from his earlier stint on crutches, and wobbled over as Victor entered the living room. "Mr. Kiriakis..." He glanced furtively at David. "How, uh, interesting to see you here."

"Especially since seeing you just last night at Brady's Pub," David chimed in. "May I take your coat?"

"No, thank you. I won't be staying long." Victor proffered the china plate to Andrew. "I brought you these. It seems you forgot them at your grandparents' house."

Andrew leaned on his cane, taking the plate of chocolate chip cookies in his free hand.

Victor folded his hands in front of him. "Your grandmother mentioned you'd joined them for dinner, and that she'd baked you some of these to take home. As it was on my way, I told her I'd drop them by." He waved a hand casually as he talked. "I would have delivered them last night, but I didn't arrive home until late and had no wish to disturb you."

David jutted his lower lip out and nodded. "How very neighborly of you to deliver them in person."

"She said they were Andrew's favorite," Victor elaborated.

"Yeah," Andrew added with a slight smile, "I used to help her make them all the time when I was little."

"I see." David looked from one to the other suspiciously before an electronic tone emitting from the back hallway interrupted his train of thought. Andrew immediately recognized it as ISA headquarters, as he knew each ring from the communications room held a coded identifier. Victor lifted a curious eyebrow at David, who pulled away from their conversation reluctantly, "If you two will excuse me a minute."

"Take your time," Victor remarked.

"I'll be right back," David cautioned, then turned and headed for Shane's office.

Andrew waited until he was gone. "So..." he opened nonchalantly, "Cookies, huh? I would have thought a Trojan horse more your style."

Victor chuckled, greatly amused at the boy's quick-wittedness. "Just a little follow-up to our brief exchange last night."

Andrew took the opportunity to detach a note card from the bottom of the plate and inspect it before stuffing it into his pants pocket.

"The location on that card is accurate as of an hour ago," Victor explained. "I hope you'll find it useful."

"Oh, I will," Andrew returned confidently.

"By the way, what made you decide to seek my assistance? Surely any information I give you, your father can uncover on his own, if he hasn't already."

"It's a matter of conscience," Andrew responded, his dark eyes meeting Victor's evenly. "My father has one. You don't. And I prefer to deal with the man who did this to me in my own way."

"Do you know how to handle such a man?" Victor asked with more than a measure of skepticism.

Andrew arched an eyebrow at him. "I said my father has a conscience; he's not a saint. I did learn a thing or two from him." He remembered a particular afternoon in Hampshire, a certain series of phone calls his father had fielded that day, and the long discussion about tactics that followed into the night.

"Ah, yes." Victor closed the distance between them, running a hand over the back of a nearby, marine-blue tufted chair. "Your father can be rather ruthless when the stakes are high enough. In fact, he's been known to sacrifice anything or _anyone_ to ensure the success of a mission." His cool, obsidian eyes studied Andrew. "Your mother has told you all about that, I'm sure." He paused to let his words find their mark.

Andrew looked down to momentarily disguise his expression. "Just how exactly do you know my mother anyway?"

Victor strolled past him, heading for the fireplace, noting with interest the firehouse photo featured prominently on it. "She was the first person to befriend me when I returned to Salem." He reached for the photo and inspected it carefully. "In fact, she was the first new friend I had made in quite some time." A trace of a smile adorned his thin lips. "She favored me with her friendship. And I hope, in turn, I was able to ease her through a very difficult time in her life." He returned the picture to the mantle.

"That's odd." Andrew knitted his brow as he turned to look at him. "She told me she knew you but, judging by her reaction, she hardly considers you a friend."

"Still, here I am," Victor announced. "And at _your_ invitation. I wonder why that is." He approached Andrew slowly. "You don't trust him, do you?"

Andrew fixed his eyes on the older gentleman.

"Of course, no one could blame you," Victor continued casually, coming to a halt a few steps in front of Andrew. "Your father's hardly been forthcoming about his absence all these years." He smoothed his coat and slid his hands into his pockets. "Then again, lies and secrets are his stock in trade. An unfortunate bi-product of the job, I suppose."

Andrew set his jaw firmly. "Just tell me one thing, Mr. Kiriakis: why do you even care? Besides the fact that you and my father clearly despise one another, why are you interested in helping me at all?"

"As I said..." He shrugged noncommittally. "Your mother and I were very close once. As a result, I've always considered you...family." He extracted a hand from his pocket and patted Andrew's arm. "And _I_ always put family first, above all else." He trained his eyes on Andrew's for a beat. "We'll talk again soon." Then he released his arm, and gestured to David as the agent rejoined them. "I trust all is well with the home office, David."

David flashed him a hardened grin. "The same old grind," he responded, taking in the scene and making the necessary connections between his conversation with headquarters, the relayed message from Shane's team, and Victor's presence. "Shall I show you out?"

Victor smiled and nodded, preceding him to the foyer.

Andrew watched them leave and returned to the sofa, setting the plate of cookies on the coffee table and removing the plastic wrap. He grabbed a cookie and took a bite, listening for the door to close.

David crossed his arms in front of him and sauntered back to the living room. "Would you kindly tell me what that was all about, lad?"

Stuffing the remains of the cookie in his mouth, Andrew lifted wide eyes to him and shrugged his shoulders.

* * *

**The garden outside a stone church, London**

"Donovan!" Nico burst out from the north side of the church and came at Drew from his left, diving in front of him and hitting his outstretched arm with a sharp uppercut as the gunshot pierced the air.

"Hold your fire!" Shane called as he listed to the left and fell to the ground, aiming the gun in his right hand squarely at his brother. "I need him alive!" He landed on his left side and let out a cry as shards of pain traveled up his arm.

Phipps and his team whirled around, flanking the remains of Drew's men, holding them at bay, while Nico scrambled up from where he had hit the ground and grabbed at Drew's collar. Phipps came at Drew from behind and restrained his arms. The gun clattered onto the garden path.

Shane groaned, stuck his gun back in his waistband, and reached over to cover his bleeding left shoulder with his right hand. A man with a thick black case darted through the formation of agents standing with guns drawn and knelt down by Shane. He opened his case and pulled out some gauze. Shane brushed him off.

"Why didn't you kill me?!" Drew shouted, wrestling against the muscular Phipps and the feel of Nico's hand closing in over his throat. "You were supposed to kill me!" he managed to choke out before Nico pressed his hand in further.

Still clutching his arm, Shane struggled to his feet and approached his brother cautiously. He stepped up behind Nico and stopped, his chest heaving as he glared at Drew. The medic quickly tied a makeshift tourniquet around Shane's upper arm as Shane took a wad of gauze from him and placed it over the open wound to staunch the bleeding. He winced, then elbowed Nico's back; Nico released his hold on Drew and stepped to the side with Phipps still standing firm, clasping Drew's elbows to keep him immobile.

Shane's voice was dangerously low as he sneered: "Believe me, I would have liked nothing better than to end your miserable life."

"Then why didn't you?" Drew spat back. "Everything I ever worked for is destroyed because of you...because of _him!_ In spite of all my years of loyalty to the family, of keeping Grandfather's secrets, then Stefano's, then _his_, he still wanted you! He's _always_ wanted you..." He took a quick breath, then added quietly, "I thought we had something in common, he and I. He hated Father just as much as I hate you."

"So he used you to get to me," Shane deduced.

"And now I've outlived my usefulness."

Shane leaned in to him. "_I'll_ tell you when you've outlived your usefulness." His eyes glinted like polished stones. "You _will_ lead me to him, if it's the last thing you ever do. You work for me now, little brother."


	22. Chapter 21

**Donovan Manor, late evening**

Seated on the floor in front of the fire, dressed in an emerald silk nightgown and robe and wrapped in the warmth of a grey chenille blanket, Kimberly leaned back against the leather sofa and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath as the tears fell unabated. A small rosewood box lay open next to her filled with letters addressed in a careful and familiar script to her and the children. Kate's husband had had it delivered after the interment. He said Peachy had kept them for her, and they had no idea what to do with them now. She knew how they felt. She didn't know what to do with them, either. She opened her eyes and blinked through her tears at the letter in her hands.

"_Paris, 16 July 2005_

_My darling Kimberly,_

_You are constantly in my thoughts. I can't seem to shake the picture of you through the bookstore window. You are as beautiful as ever. The whole of Shakespeare's catalog of sonnets cannot describe how I felt seeing you after all this time. I can breathe again. It took every last ounce of strength I had not to burst through that door and take you in my arms. How I long for this whole nightmare to be over…_

_And now I sit across the street from the little café we frequented on our honeymoon, hoping to catch another glimpse of you. I don't expect I will. You probably have no wish to be reminded, especially on your birthday. In my mind's eye, I can see your face. I'm picturing your eyes, the expression they'll carry when you discover the flowers in your room. It was a foolish stunt, I know. I just couldn't resist them or resist trying to communicate to you in some way how very much I still love you and always will…"_

So it _had_ been him. When she'd opened the door to her hotel room two and a half years ago and breathed in the scent of the dozens of pale pink roses that filled it, her mind had been occupied with one thought, one name, one man. But it was impossible, she told herself. He was gone. He had been dead for more than two years. Her mother telephoned later to ask if she'd received the "little birthday gift" the family had arranged for her. Despite unremitting doubts, she allowed herself to be convinced the flowers were from them -- the color of the roses just a coincidence. But in her heart she knew; she had always known.

And then today, after the funeral, she sat with Jeannie on the bed in her room as she explained how Shane had told his daughter he always wanted her, how he had so wanted their first baby girl and felt responsible for losing her, felt regret and sorrow over not being able to meet Kimberly's needs all those years ago.

And finally, there was her conversation with Bo when she called to check on Andrew. He admitted to having known for some time that she and the children were in danger and swearing to Shane he would do whatever he could to protect them. He apologized for keeping Shane's secret, but she found she couldn't be angry with her baby brother for long. She understood his motives. She only wished she understood Shane's. _Why didn't you tell me?_ Her heart cried out to the letters before her. _Oh, God, why didn't you tell me?_

She heard the front door open and close, and she straightened. Shane's voice filled the entranceway. "Really, David? He was at the house this morning?" His cell phone to his ear, he gingerly removed his overcoat as Roger assisted him, looking askance at his injured arm. Shane shook his head in dismissal, then handed his suit coat to Roger, who gathered the tattered coats together and disappeared down the corridor, shaking his head as he walked.

Kim hurriedly brushed the tears from her face, moved to the sofa and sat down, still holding the letter stiffly in her hands, keeping up a pretense of examining it closely so as to avoid making any eye contact.

"Well, see what you can find out." Shane entered the salon, his face grim. "No. Of course. Whatever you think best. I trust your judgment." He glanced over at her briefly, then turned to a desk, dropped his keys on it, and shuffled through the papers there. "We're leaving in the morning. Tell Bo I'll send word of our arrival." He sighed. "I will. Thanks again." He clicked the phone shut, engrossed in a note he had found.

Kimberly wiped her eyes again. "How did it go?" She gathered herself and looked over at him, her eyes widening at the blood-soaked bandage wound around his left shoulder. "What happened?" She jumped up, losing the letter on the floor as she rushed over to him. She came up alongside him and brushed her fingers gently over the gash on his upper arm.

He flinched. "It's nothing, Kim. Really."

"I don't know about that. It looks awfully deep. You should see a doctor."

"I'm fine. See?" He rotated his arm stiffly. "Only needed a few stitches. One of our medics took care of it."

She squinted up at him. "How did it happen?"

He folded the note he had been reading and tucked it carefully in his hip pocket.

"Tell me," she said crossly.

He raised his eyes to hers fleetingly, then stepped around her. "A bullet merely grazed me, that's all," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Drew _shot_ at you?!" She whirled around.

He smirked. "He can't seem to help himself."

She grabbed his arm. "This is _not_ something to joke about, Shane Donovan!"

He looked back at her soberly. "No. No, it isn't." In that moment, he allowed himself to face the fact that it was well past time to reveal everything to her. He just wasn't sure he was ready and, after what had transpired today, he was uncertain he actually _knew_ everything. He let out a slow breath. "We need to talk."

She released his arm, crossing her own in front of her. "That's what I've been _trying _to do."

Still watching her intently, he tugged at his loosened tie with his right hand, then pulled it off and left it on the desk. Glancing back at the stairwell, he asked, "Has Jeannie gone to bed?"

She shook her head. "She's spending the night at Kate's."

He balked at her.

"Don't worry. She's safe. Jeffers has gone with her." She held up her hands defensively. "And, before you look at me like that again, he left a couple of his men in charge to look after things here." She sighed. "Jeannie just wanted to help with the baby. She's grown very close to Peachy's family over the years."

The look in her eyes quieted him. He looked down and nodded.

"She'll be back first thing in the morning," she assured him, running the sash on her robe through her fingers. Her eyes flitted up to his and away again. "What time does our plane leave?" She walked past him, heading for the warmth of the fireplace.

"Around 11:00. I'll call Jeffers and inform him of our schedule."

She nodded. "I spoke with Andrew a couple hours ago," she offered, holding her hands out to the fire and rubbing them together. "He sounds good. A little bored, but good. He's being well looked after by Bo and David, I think."

"Hmph," he scoffed. _And Victor, he groused_. He ran a hand through his hair.

She swung round. "What aren't you telling me?" she asked coldly. "Did something happen to Andrew that I don't know about?"

"No, Kim. He's fine."

"I don't believe you."

He tried to placate her. "You said you spoke with him yourself, right?"

"But that was hours ago. Something could have -- "

"Look," he said, calmly advancing on her. "I just got off the phone with David. Andrew's on the computer in my office. He's fine." He drew up close to her. "I assure you there is nothing to worry about."

"Your assurances mean very little to me."

He bit down hard. "I can see that," he conceded sullenly. He could hardly blame her. He cast his eyes downward and, spying the letter at his feet, bent to retrieve it. He turned it over carefully in his hands, staring at its contents. Then he lifted his head, fully taking in the scene around him for the first time since entering the room. He took note of her tear-stained face, her clenched fists, the rosewood box in front of the fireplace. His dark eyes sought hers.

She followed his gaze and took a determined breath. "What are these, Shane?" She pulled the letters from the box. "Andrew's graduation…" She sifted through them. "Jeannie's opening night last year…" She grabbed the letter out of his hands. "And this?" She held it up to him. "What is this?"

He took a tentative step toward her. "I…"

"You were there...in Paris...for my book tour?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me."

"I couldn't. You _know_ that."

She stepped back from him, clutching the letter to her chest.

He eyed her quietly, then ran a hand over his nose and mouth and looked down. "I asked Peachy to keep these letters in case..."

"In case they finally succeeded in killing you?" Her eyes flashed. "Like Drew almost did today?"

"Kim, please..." He took another step toward her.

She held up a hand. "You know, I thought if I knew everything, if you finally told me what had kept you from us, it would make me feel better. But it doesn't." She huffed. "It makes it worse. All of this makes it worse!" She crumpled the letter and threw it down. "Especially since you couldn't trust me with any of it."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes wide with guilt.

"I mean, clearly, you felt you could trust Peachy. You enlisted her help to ensnare Drew." She had worked that part out easily enough. "And Bo." She trekked round the back of the sofa. "You told Bo about the threats to Andrew so he could watch out for us. Did John know?" She halted a minute, then resumed walking and thinking aloud. "Of course he did. He was ISA." She stopped and looked at him evenly. "And Steve. From what I've seen, you've been sharing information with him for some time now."

The look in his eyes lent her silent confirmation.

"You told all of _them_." Her voice shook with pent-up anger. "Why couldn't you tell_ me_?!"

"I wanted to, Kim. I just couldn't. I couldn't do that to you —"

"But you could let me believe you were dead." Her voice dropped to an agonized whisper. "_That_ you could do."

He shut his eyes briefly against the painful edge to her voice. "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Believe me." He walked to her. "But there was no other way."

She glared at him accusingly. "You could have found another way!"

"Don't you think I tried?!" He burst out. "If there was even the smallest chance I could have kept this away from all of you and still been a part of your lives, don't you think I would have taken it?" He searched her face, his eyes boring into hers. "My God! Do you think I just woke up one morning and decided to do this?" He darted forward, taking her shoulders in his hands with a look of solid determination. "Do you think this was easy for me?!" he shouted.

She stumbled backward a bit.

Shocked by his own forcefulness, and aware of the need to keep the frustrations of the day in check, he held her a moment to steady her, then gently released her, running his hands over her arms and off her hands. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly brushing past her.

Her hands tingled at the memory of his touch, and she clasped them together before bringing them to her mouth and closing her eyes, taking deep breaths.

He paced back to the desk. "After learning of my brother's true intentions for Andrew, I agonized for days over what to do." He rubbed at his tired eyes. "I didn't have a lot of time. He forced my hand, Kim." He gestured with a flattened palm as he continued, "I wracked my brain, considering every possible angle, every plausible scenario. I had to find a way to get the information I needed and still protect you and the children." He walked around the pair of leather chairs opposite her in a slow semi-circle. "I had to figure out how I could infiltrate my grandfather's organization on the one hand and remove the threat to Andrew at the same time. I had to find a way to be in two places at once." He paused, dropping his hands to his sides. "There was no other way, Kimberly. There just wasn't."

Her mind raced. "You could have sent someone else to gather the information you needed...increased security around me and the children…"

"I'd already done all that." He flailed his arms about. "Nothing was working! By masquerading as Drew, I had access to people and information that would otherwise have been completely closed off to me." He turned to face her. "And you saw what it was like today at the funeral, what it's been like for Andrew since I reemerged. I didn't want you to have to live a life of seclusion, surrounded constantly by armed guards." He elevated his voice to match his conviction. "What kind of life would that have been for you, for the children? It's not the kind of life you want."

She turned toward him, but remained where she was, maintaining the marked physical distance between them. "You could have at least told me what was going on."

"And you would have kept it from the children?" He eyed her skeptically. "For their safety, you would have had to. You know that." He thrust his hands in his pockets.** "**It's damned hard to live with a lie of this magnitude, Kimberly." He hung his head. "Trust me. I know."

She fixed her eyes on the crinkled letter on the floor. "I just don't understand it." Tears pricked at her eyes. "If you really felt like that..." Her voice faltered. "There were other options, Shane. I _know_ there were. But you _chose_ to do this." She shook her head. "And I don't understand it at all."

He lifted his head and pulled his hands from his pockets. "Then understand this: if I had it to do all over again, given the information I had at the time, I would." He took shallow breaths, fighting for control. "You see, I could handle being without you, stealing only glimpses of you and the children through the years." The images flashed through his mind as he spoke. "I could deal with Jeannie growing up without me, the loss of Andrew's respect. Even..." He could feel his throat tighten and he swallowed hard. "Even the loss of your love." His eyes burned as he looked at her. "I could live with just about anything. But to lose you in reality, to lose you all forever…" His voice broke. "And to be the cause…" His eyes filled with tears. "I couldn't bear it, Kim. I just couldn't."

She drew a shaky breath, meeting his eyes bravely. "You might be surprised what you can bear when you have to." She stood rooted to the spot, feeling her chest constrict as she remembered the day Peachy told her he'd gone missing, and when the ISA later confirmed his death. "I know exactly what it feels like to..." She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. "To lose you." She blinked away tears. "More than once...and in more than one way."

The level of despondency in her smoky jade eyes nearly knocked his feet out from under him. He took a sharp, ragged breath, his eyes reaching across the room to join hers in silent anguish. "Kimberly..."

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "_Damn_ you."

He watched tears well up and spill onto her soft, powdery cheeks and, suddenly, the urge to wipe them away was greater than he could stand. He crossed the room in great strides, gathered her swiftly in his arms, and kissed her. She gasped as his lips pressed down hard on hers and his arms enveloped her tiny frame in a singular rush of emotion. Instinctually, she wrapped her arms round his neck, meeting his need with her own, drawing him closer. In response, he pulled her even more roughly to him, letting out a low groan as pain shot through his left arm.

She pulled away quickly. "Shane, your arm..."

"I don't care," he said in a thick whisper. He reached up with his right hand, entwining his fingers in her silky blond hair. "I don't care." He tilted her head back and leaned in to devour her mouth, breathing her in, getting lost in the feel of her lips on his, her body against his.

She ran her hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, feeling she could never get close enough or hold him tightly enough. He felt her tremble in his arms and drew her nearer, sinking deeper into the sweetness of her petal-soft lips and probing her open mouth with his tongue. He felt her relax in his embrace and moved both hands over her shoulders and up to caress the nape of her neck, kissing her over and over, the way he'd dreamt of all the wasted years they were apart. Then, yearning to look into her eyes, he reached up and placed his hands gently on her face -- and stopped. He felt her warm tears as they fell like droplets of rain, and he released her lips reluctantly, stepping back from her slightly, his eyes meeting hers with tender affection. He brushed at the wetness on her cheeks with his thumbs. "Shh..." He leaned in and kissed away the salty stains from one cheek, then the other. He could feel her shaking. "Shh..." He kissed her forehead then the tip of her nose. "Don't cry, darling." She closed her eyes and summoned a calming breath. He kissed her eyelids.

Her eyes fluttered open. She reached up and touched his face, carefully smoothing his wrinkled brow, then tracing a line down his jaw to his lips. "Shane..." She lifted her eyes to his as he kissed her fingertip. She stood on her toes and kissed his bottom lip where her finger had been. "Shane..." she whispered, wrapping her arms round his neck, once more drawing his mouth down to hers. He reached round her, placing his right hand on the small of her back and lifting her towards him. She felt like she was floating as his kisses grew softer and gentler, his lips making the lingering journey down her chin to her neck to her ear.

And she knew where he would kiss her next, just exactly where he would put his hands, the rhythm of his breathing; she knew all that. At one point, she had known him so well she could finish his sentences, laugh at his unspoken jokes, see it in his eyes when he was sick or lonely, even feel which way he was going to turn in his sleep. She had known him. Or had she? "No." The word escaped before she could stop it. "No. Please."

He lifted his head, cupping her face in his hands. "Kim..."

"Please stop." She pulled back, her body refusing to listen to what her mind was telling her and needing the added distance to get the message. She folded her arms and turned away from him, putting a hand to her mouth but failing to hold the tears in check.

Seeing her obvious distress, he furrowed his brow with concern. "Kimberly..." He came up behind her, clasping her upper arms reassuringly. He leaned toward her.

"No!" She struggled out of his grip. "Don't." She stifled a small sob and moved further away, keeping her back turned to him.

He closed his eyes and took an uneven breath, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's too late for that." She walked the length of the sofa, putting more and more space between them.

"I don't know what else to say."

She thought for a moment, unsure as to whether to run from him or confront the jumble of feelings churning inside her. "There's nothing you _can_ say," she returned knowingly.

He took a step toward her, reaching for her; then, thinking better of it, dropped his hands helplessly at his sides. Minutes ticked by as neither one moved, lost in thought and ghosts of memory.

"I tried _so hard_ to forget you," she said finally, continuing round the back of the sofa table. "I filled my days with work, immersed myself in cases, in my research..." The corners of her mouth turned up in a wry half-smile. "I concentrated on other people's problems, getting lost in _their _issues, their concerns, their lives." She shook her head. "And it worked...for awhile." He watched her make her way to the set of floor-length windows on the other side of the room. She inhaled deeply. "Then I threw myself into my photography and focused on raising my --" She glanced over at him briefly. "_Our_ children." She turned back to the window, pushing aside the taupe brocade curtain and peering out at the shadowy trees. "It took me a long time, and a lot of courage and dedication, but I did it. I built myself up, _all by myself_. I made a life for us -- for me and the children." Her eyes captured flashes of moonlight shimmering off the reflecting pond, like shutter bulbs on a black satin canvas. "And I'm proud of who I am and what I've accomplished."

He lowered his head, his eyes shimmering with new tears. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

"But then..." She took a breath. "I'd hear Jeannie laugh or see Andrew smile..." She chuckled softly. "The bouncy way he walked, the color of Jeannie's eyes." Her voice quavered. "And there you were..." She let the curtain fall back into place. "Like you never left." She lifted her shoulders and shook her head in resignation. "And, yes, there were minutes, sometimes hours, when I managed to, somehow, push you to the back of my mind..." She looked down, pressing her lips together, attempting to gather herself, as sobs threatened to overtake her.

He looked over at her, feeling afresh the heavy ache, remembering all the times he could barely think straight for picturing her smile, hearing her sweet laughter echo in his dreams.

"But I saw you every day in our children," she continued. "And it hurt. It hurt more than anything." She crossed her arms guardedly in front of her, still refusing to look at him.

Longing to comfort her, he took a few steps to close the distance between them, then stopped, his muscles taut. Leaning on the edge of the sofa table, he watched her quietly.

She turned to him, tears streaming down her face. "Do you know what it's like to go to sleep at night, so sure...? " She clenched her hands into fists, pumping them in front of her for emphasis. "I felt so strongly, _the whole time,_ that you were alive."

Tears blurred his vision as he looked at her. He hadn't counted on her knowing.

"But I couldn't go through that again." She looked away. "I couldn't base my life on false hopes. I had to..." She drew a breath and swiped at her tears. "For the children's sake, I had to move on, to convince myself you were gone...and never coming back." She sniffled. "I suppose if I had seen you or I'd had the chance to say good-bye, if there had been some kind of closure." She was crying openly now. "But, instead, every night I would sit on the deck looking out at the ocean. And it felt like any minute you'd just come up behind me, put your hands on my shoulders, and everything would be all right." She swallowed hard. "Then morning would come, and I'd wake up alone, forcing myself to accept it all over again." Her voice rose. "Don't you see?" She glared at him through her tears. "You didn't die just once for me. You died _every single day_!" Her body shook with emotion. "And you let me go through that! You let _our children_ go through that! Do you have any idea the hell you put them through? Do you?!"

"Kim..." He straightened.

"And it was all for nothing!"

"I..." He struggled for words. "I'm _sorry!_"

"That isn't good enough!" She rushed past him, heading for the foyer.

He stepped in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Kimberly, listen..."

She attempted to break away from him.

"No, listen. _Listen to me!_" He took her face in his hands and lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. "I wanted to tell you!" he let out in desperation. "I would have given _anything_ to..." Seeing the hurt in her eyes, he loosened his grip and softened his voice. "Just to be with you." He stared at her intently. "You and the children were all I thought of, every minute. Don't you know you're _everything_ to me?"

She wrenched herself free of his grasp and turned away. "If we meant so much to you..." She put a hand to her chest. "If _I_ really meant so much to you, you wouldn't have done this. You -- you wouldn't have..." Between sobs, she burst out: "You would never have left me alone like that!"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I didn't want to hurt you anymore! I couldn't --." His voice caught.

"I loved you so much." The words tumbled out of her. She hadn't realized how hard it had been to keep them banked down deep inside. She kept her back turned to him in the stillness that followed.

He opened his eyes and stared at her in wonderment. "And I loved you."

She took a moment to absorb the words, then added somberly, "But it wasn't enough, was it?" I _wasn't enough, she added silently._

He stepped up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't say that," he said firmly. "You know that's not true."

"It feels true." She rubbed the tears from her face.

He lowered his voice. "That's the trouble with a lie like that; when it goes unchallenged, it begins to feel true." He brushed her hair over her shoulder. "But it's not." He kissed the top of her head. "It's not true at all."

She pivoted to face him. "Then why couldn't you trust me?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "It wasn't _you_ I couldn't trust." He pulled back, and looked away abruptly. "It was me."

She narrowed her eyes, the space between his words filling her head with new questions. "What do you mean?"

He inhaled sharply, pressing his shoulders back, and releasing her. "I couldn't run the risk of your being involved." He stepped back from her, his voice rising with each step. "I needed you and the children to be as far away from me as possible."

"Shane..."

"The situation was volatile." He turned away from her. "It was just too dangerous." His body tensed. "And it's even more dangerous for you now."

She wrinkled her brow curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

He continued to move away from her. "Listen, um..." He stepped to the desk and retrieved his car keys, stuffing them in his pocket. "I have to go out for awhile."

She turned to him. "Now?"

He drew an unsteady breath. "I have some things to take care of before we leave tomorrow."

"Shane, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I have to go. I..."

She walked to him and rested a hand lightly on his back. "Whatever it is --"

He jerked away from her. "Let it alone, Kimberly, please!"

She blinked at him in confusion.

He turned back to her. "Just for now. _Please_." His eyes pleaded with her. "I can't..."

"All right," she said calmly.

He sighed heavily. "Thank you." He hesitated, then took her hands in his and brought them to his lips for a quick kiss. "I won't be long." He turned from her and bolted toward the front door, exiting the house without going for his coat.

"Be care..." The door slammed shut on her words. "...ful," she finished. She wrapped her arms tightly about her at the burst of cold, outside air that followed in his wake.

She stared after him a minute, then made her way slowly over to the fire, trying to unravel what had precipitated the sudden sea change in his temperament. She inadvertently kicked the crumpled ball of paper on the floor before her and leaned down to reclaim it, then lowered herself onto the sofa and picked at the edges of his letter with her fingers. As she smoothed it out on the armrest next to her, she recalled Peachy's last words of advice: _He needs you now more than ever._

"Oh, yeah, Peach. He sure does," she said, turning wisened eyes to the door.


	23. Chapter 22

**Donovan Manor, library, late evening**

He stood in the doorway for several minutes watching the interplay of golden firelight with the deep shadows in the dark, lightly dust-coated room, taking in the far wall with its rows of leather-bound books stacked to the rafters behind the heavy-set mahogany desk. His eyes then drifted down to the well-worn, wine-colored, oriental carpeting and up and over the pincushion velvet chairs and matching burgundy-red chaise lounge -- before finally settling on her, as she lay stretched out on the burnished yellow settee in her emerald silk robe, squinting at a book in her hands. A green-shaded bookkeeper's lamp on a small table beside her back-lit her fair hair and softened her smooth, porcelain features. He slid his hands into the pockets of his lapis-blue satin robe and continued to stare at her, wondering just exactly how long he'd be allowed to stand there without her taking notice and blurring the beautiful picture before him with what he expected to be a strained conversation.

She looked up from her book as if on cue and glanced over at him.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now," he said in a low voice as he entered, drawing closer and stopping inches from the settee, looking down on her.

She tucked her finger in the book to mark the passage and sat up, setting her feet on the floor. "I needed a little downtime." She fibbed, casting him another fleeting glance.

He nodded once, then turned to the fire, removing the blackened glass screen and squatting to poke at the lowest log in the pile with a pair of brass tongs. The fire revived as it caught on to the added kindling.

"I also wanted to make sure you were all right," she added softly.

He repositioned the screen and replaced the tongs in the rack, then straightened, his eyes traveling up over the mantle to the portrait hanging above it: an oil painting of a raven-haired, almond-eyed woman in her early thirties dressed in a thin, ivory-muslin dress and holding a small bouquet of yellow primroses in her lap.

Kim followed his gaze, her eyes fixing themselves on the amber cameo brooch pinned to the collar of the woman's dress and the gentle smile that adorned her lips.

He rested his hands on the mantle, letting out a barely audible sigh as he viewed the portrait of his mother, then turned back to Kimberly. "So..." he said, returning his hands to his pockets and casually taking the seat beside her. "What are you reading?"

She turned the book over in her hands.

Spying the title on the cover, he reached for it. "Aha! _I shall have my pound of flesh_..." he quoted with a devilish glint to his eye as she carefully removed her hand from the marked passage and the book fell open to Act IV of _The Merchant of Venice_.

"The very thing, my dear boy," Kim responded in a teasing British accent.

He smiled at her.

She resumed her natural voice. "Though, at this point, I don't think I really need the book. I've read through Portia's monologue so many times with Jeannie." She looked at him, her eyes glowing in the firelight. "Let's see if I can remember..."

He caught the gleam in her eyes and drank in the moment.

_"Then must the Jew be merciful,"_ she began.

He glanced briefly at the text, then lifted an eyebrow at her: _"On what compulsion must I? Tell me that."_

She narrowed her eyes, staring past him, and continued: "_The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath..._" She drew a quiet breath. "_It is twice blest; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes_..."

"_Tis mightiest in the mighty_..." Shane looked up from the book, then tentatively at her, as if asking permission. Finding it tacitly given, he recited from memory: "_It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown;__ His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, the attribute to awe and majesty, wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.._." He turned his eyes to the fire. "_But mercy is above this sceptred sway; it is enthroned in the hearts of kings..._"

Kim followed his gaze: "_It is an attribute to God himself -- and earthly power doth then show likest God's...when mercy seasons justice_..." She glanced over at him. "_Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy_..." She stopped.

"The very thing," he repeated, turning back to her, once again setting his dark eyes on hers. He reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Did Jeannie have to memorize it for class?"

"She read for the part in the Fall." Kimberly shifted nervously, and he dropped his hand from her shoulder. "After _Taming of the Shrew_ last Spring, her class decided to follow up with this." She looked down briefly. "She didn't get the part, though."

"That's too bad," he said softly. "Was she very disappointed?"

Kim shrugged. "She got over it."

A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered. "She made an amazing Katherine."

She smiled back. "That's right. You were..." She met his eyes gravely. "You were there."

His countenance fell and he looked away. "Yes, I was there." He put his hands on his knees and stood. "And I shouldn't have been." He turned his back on her and walked to the desk, dropping the book on it. "It was a stupid thing to do. I risked your lives to see her. It was selfish and stupid."

She pivoted to face him. "Shane..."

"Oh, dammit, Kim!" He pounded his fist on the desk and turned back to her. "And now she's missing her senior year because of me."

"She'll be all right."

He eyed her skeptically. "And what about Andrew? I've disrupted his life completely -- " He ran a hand through his hair. "Nearly _cost_ him his life!"

"Shane..."

"This is _exactly_ what I've been trying to prevent!"

"Shane, listen to me," she cut in with a pointed look. "They'll adjust."

He let out a disbelieving snort and paced in front of her.

She pressed on. "It's not easy, but I really think that, more than anything else..." She took a short breath. "They're just happy you're alive, that they have their father back."

"Oh, yes." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "As Andrew's made abundantly clear, they're thrilled to have me back in their lives after lying to them all these years." He looked down. "Just as thrilled as you are."

"I need time to adjust, too," she returned quietly.

He picked up a silver-plated box from the desk and ran his thumb over his father's initials engraved on the lid. "You know, I wrote those letters..." he started, refusing to look at her. "I took a chance on seeing you..." He drew a breath. "When I couldn't take it anymore." He set down the trinket box and leaned his hands on the desk, favoring his left shoulder by leaning more weight on his right arm. "It was a stupid, reckless, irresponsible thing to do, and I knew it." He shook his head at himself. "I should have stayed away." His voice fell to a whisper. "It's just that I..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I grew so...tired."

She stood to her feet and approached him cautiously.

"Sometimes...I would..." His voice drifted off. "Just get so..._tired_."

She ran her hands up his back and over his right shoulder. "I know." She blinked through her tears. "I know."

He dropped his hands to his sides.

"You, uh..." She turned him slowly to her. "You didn't rush out of here earlier to run an errand, did you?"

"Kim, I..." He tensed.

She put a finger to his lips to quiet him. "I won't ask you about it."

He inhaled deeply.

She laced her fingers together behind his neck. "Just come here." She drew him down into a gentle hug. "It's all right. Come here."

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and holding her tight. Then he lifted his head and ran a hand over her hair, taking in its scent, feeling her hands caress his back, allowing her nearness to wipe the tension away, if only for a moment.

But, just as she felt him begin to relax, he put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back from her circumspectly. He took her hands in his and gave them a light squeeze before releasing them and stepping past her. "I did check on a couple of things while I was out," he told her.

She watched him carefully, pushing his avoidance to the back of her mind. "Really? Like what?"

He moved to one of the tufted chairs, placed his hands on the chairback, and looked at her. "Kim, I want you to know everything_ I_ know from here on out. Any progress made on the investigation, any leads I have..." He tapped his fingers on the chair. "I don't want to keep anything back from you anymore."

"I appreciate that, Shane," she said slowly. "But?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

He tilted his head to the side. She knew him too well. "But I will do whatever it takes to keep you and the children safe." He squinted at her. "You do understand that, don't you?"

She nodded. "Of course I do."

He sighed heavily. "Good." He walked around the chair and sat down on it, resting his elbows on his knees. "The first thing you should know is that Andrew is still in danger."

She returned to her place on the settee across from him and lowered herself onto it. "Okay," she said resolutely.

"But I am doing everything I can to draw them away from him." He rubbed his hands together. "For starters, I'm having Drew followed. I need to ferret out his boss so I can devise some sort of trap for him."

"I see." She faced him squarely.

"The more we're able to put them on the defensive, the safer it is for Andrew."

She nodded.

"I've also asked Nico to follow up with someone we hired within Drew's organization." He could see in her eyes the confidence she placed in their Italian friend. "I think any information we glean from that source could prove very valuable." Her approving look reassured him. "And I've asked David to keep a close watch on Andrew for as long as it takes."

"That's good to know." She hesitated a minute, then looked away before asking: "What about Cal?"

He looked down and set his jaw. "After my little meeting with Drew today, I believe Winters is acting alone. I've got one of our best operatives working on locating him. I expect to hear something soon."

"All right." She smoothed her robe with a hand. "Anything else?"

"I received a tip earlier this evening." He lifted his eyes to hers. "The ISA has tracked Eve to New York."

She turned back to him, meeting his even stare.

"I think I should go and question her, see if she knows anything."

She licked her lips. "I'd like to go with you."

He furrowed his brow. "Kim, are you sure?"

"I think I have more experience in handling her," she returned calmly.

He looked down. "Yes. I suppose you do." He then pursed his lips together thoughtfully. "You should know she's in a drug treatment facility."

"How long has she been there?"

He sighed. "Only a week or so."

"You know, we may have trouble getting in to see her because of that," she observed.

He nodded in agreement.

"Give me their number and I'll see what I can do to expedite things."

"Thanks." His eyes flitted up to hers and away again. "Kim..." He fidgeted in his chair. "There's something else you should know."

"What's that?"

He took a sharp breath. "Victor dropped by the house to see Andrew today."

"He what?" Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"That's what I'm trying to work out." He stood. "Now, David was there, and Victor didn't stay long... It may just be his way of adding fuel to the fire, I don't know..." He began to pace in front of her.

She swallowed hard. "But you think he may be involved somehow."

He stopped and looked at her. "Much as I'd like to, Kim, I can't rule out the possibility." He resumed pacing. "You see, there's something Drew said to me earlier about how this game we find ourselves in has been going on for generations, that it involves a whole host of people I may not have even considered." He turned to her once more. "We just need to be careful, that's all." He searched her face.

She lifted steely eyes to his. "I don't want that man anywhere near my son, Shane."

He nodded firmly. "I know. I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.

He continued to watch her. "It's late." He stuffed his hands in his pockets again. "We should go up to bed."

Her eyes flickered open, interlocking with his awhile. "Yes, I guess we should."

He motioned to her quietly, and she stepped in front of him and headed for the door.

He cleared his throat softly. "You go on ahead," he called after her. "I should probably extinguish the fire."

She turned back to him. "Oh. Okay. Sure." She lifted her shoulders. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Kim?"

"Yes?"

His eyes shimmered in the low lamp-light. "I am going to resolve this. I promise you, I will."

"I know you will," she assured him with quiet confidence.

He lifted his chin. "I want you and the children to be free to get on with your lives, to put this behind you once and for all."

A long-dormant feeling pricked at her heart as he said the words. She noticed he didn't say "we." _So we could get on with our lives... _And if he couldn't bring himself to say it, why was she even thinking it? She tried to clear it from her mind. "Good night, Shane."

"Good night, Kimberly."

She entered the hallway and made her way up the stairs to her room, leaving him alone, his gaze fixed on the empty doorway.


	24. Chapter 23

**Biggin Hill Airport, 12 miles outside London, the following afternoon**

"She told me all about the Paris opera." Jeannie turned to her father who was seated between her and her mother on the eight-passenger Cessna Excel as it idled on the tarmac awaiting clearance for takeoff.

Glancing up from his laptop and peering at her over his glasses, Shane returned, "Ah. But did she also tell you how she almost got herself killed?"

"She did mention it…" Jeannie's hazel-brown eyes twinkled up at him. "_Briefly,_" she punctuated her statement with a pert smile. "Something about waiting for a high C to put in an appearance."

Shane returned his attention to the computer screen. "Which, for all intents and purposes, failed to happen." He typed in a string of code absentmindedly.

Jeannie squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, adopting Peachy's accent: "_Every diva ought to have her day. How was I to know she'd take a whole bloody week?_"

Shane stopped typing and laughed heartily. "That was rather good." He beamed at his daughter with unvarnished pride. "You know, you might consider a career in the _theatre_," he said, placing heavy emphasis and high-brow affectation on the word "theatre." He winked at her.

Jeannie smiled shyly. Sitting with her hands folded in her lap, she reached up and tucked an errant strand of blond hair behind an ear. She cleared her throat softly. "Then there were the many times Peachy said she came to _your_ rescue at the last minute."

He looked up suddenly. "_Many_ tim-- ?" He stopped short. "I give up," he conceded with a sigh, logging out of the database he'd been searching and snapping the laptop shut. "What else did she tell you?" He removed his glasses and raised an eyebrow. "Nothing classified, I hope."

She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, there's always Cairo and that mysterious package that turned out to be _empty_."

He feigned astonishment. "She told you about _that?_"

Her eyes never left his. "Only that it was—"

"The wrong package!" they said together, collapsing into light-hearted laughter.

"Uh, guys?" Kimberly adjusted her seatback and sat up, opening her eyes and squinting at them. "Could you keep it down?"

"I'm sorry, Kim, we --" Shane turned to his right, his smile fading at the sight of Kimberly's pallid complexion.

Jeannie leaned forward. "Mama, are you okay?"

Kimberly brushed off their wide-eyed concern. "I have a slight headache, that's all." She rested her head back on the tanned-leather chair.

Shane furrowed his brow. From what he could see, there was nothing _slight_ about it. Come to think of it, she had been quiet all morning. "Have you taken anything for it?" He stowed his laptop under the seat, then motioned for the steward. "Can I get you -- ?"

"No. It's all right." She put a hand on his arm. "I already took something."

Jeannie watched her father place a hand over her mother's.

"I just need to rest," Kimberly added, leaning back again and attempting a smile, "So if you two jabbermouths will play quietly amongst yourselves..."

"Can I get you some water?" Jeannie cut in.

"No, honey, I'm fine," Kim assured her, closing her eyes.

A thin, sandy-haired man in a white waistcoat approached. "We're set to take off in a few minutes. Is there anything I can get you before then?"

Shane leaned in to her. "Kim?"

"I'm _okay_," she insisted, without opening her eyes.

Unconvinced by her response, Shane hesitated before waving the steward off. "We'll let you know, James. Thanks." The young man nodded and took his seat at the front of the airplane.

Shane turned back to Kimberly, eyeing her closely. "Here." He shifted towards her, wincing as he lifted his injured left arm to cup the side of her face gently with a hand. "I think _this_ one still works." She allowed him to carefully draw her head onto his right shoulder. "Lie back." He touched her temple lightly. "There. Better?"

"Much. Thanks." She didn't know if it was the solid breadth of his shoulder or his nearness alone that soothed her, but she rested her head on him, allowing herself to feel the rise and fall of his breath as quiet assurance and to be comforted by it.

Shane kept his hand over hers and rubbed his chin over the top of her head. The thought of her hurting in even the smallest way still set off a series of unguarded chain reactions within him. He longed to take her in his arms and ease the pain away. Time was, he could have done that, or at the very least, made a valiant attempt. Now, keenly aware of the pain he himself had inflicted upon her over the years, he restrained himself. Instead, he lifted his head and glanced up at the in-flight monitor, attempting to dismiss the feeling as easily as he had dismissed the eager young steward.

Jeannie watched them a minute, then turned and fumbled for her iPod. It felt strange seeing her parents together like this. In the whole of her life, they had never spent more than a few days together, and most of that time had been taken up with her and Andrew. When she was a little girl, she thought all divorced couples behaved as they did: respectful, considerate, remembering each other's birthdays and special family occasions, talking on the telephone till the small hours of the morning. She had even caught them kissing once. But, as she grew older, she learned their relationship was far from typical, and just as she reached the age to articulate her feelings about it, her father disappeared. Now, she observed, they seemed to be picking up on that same, long-lost conversation; yet, things were different this time, and she was determined to find out how. So she quietly took in nearly every word and gesture, taking mental notes like snapshots to pull out and examine later. She adjusted her seat belt and redirected her thoughts, glancing surreptitiously at her father. "Dad?"

He looked over at her. "Yes, sweetheart?"

She took a moment, gathering the courage to ask what had been weighing on her mind since yesterday. "What's it like to be shot at?"

Shane let out a slow breath, buying time as he considered his response. The question took him by surprise. Though, he didn't know why it should have. Even as a child, Jeannie had been curious about his work and asked the most probing questions of anyone he knew, apart from her mother. "I had hoped to avoid these types of questions."

"Oh, come on, Dad. It's part of what you do. It was bound to come up..." her voice trailed off as she realized her mistake: it would _never_ have come up. "I mean, now that you're here..." She looked down, self-consciously. "There's so much I want to ask you, so much I want to know." She fidgeted. "And with Peachy gone..."

He cocked his head to one side, trying to get a better read on her expression. "You two were close, weren't you?" he observed quietly.

She took a halting breath before revealing, "She used to tell me stories about you." She engaged in a close study of her hands. "It was a way of knowing you."

A wave of regret washed over him. Still, conscious of Kimberly's proximity, he stopped himself from pursuing the line of questioning that sprang uppermost to his mind. He supposed it unfair of him to even think it, but he couldn't help but wonder what Kimberly had told their daughter about him in the intervening years.

"But now that I can ask you in person," Jeannie continued, "I kind of hoped that..." She shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "It's stupid. Forget it." She played with the earbud wire to her iPod.

"No, it's not stupid. Nothing that interests you is ever stupid. You know that." His eyes traveled over her profile. "I've missed our talks." He lowered his voice. "We've lost a lot of time together, you and I."

She kept her focus on her hands. "I understand why you did it," she offered. "Trying to protect us and all..."

"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

"No," she responded softly.

Despite the heavy ache behind her eyes, Kimberly fluttered them open a moment. The sound of Shane's deep voice resonating in his chest had nearly lulled her sleep and she had missed the start of their conversation. But the discordant note in her daughter's voice jarred her awake and she looked over at her briefly.

Shane followed Jeannie's gaze as she continued to stare at her hands. He cleared the lump from his throat and concentrated on the present. "In answer to your question," he began slowly, "you don't really have time to think about it at first." He looked up, staring into the middle distance. "Oh, you feel it, all right. It hurts like _he_..." He censored his language. "Well, it hurts. But you can't really process it." He thought a minute. "You see, going into a situation, you know it's a possibility and you prepare yourself as best you can. You're trained to avoid it and know how to react quickly if it does. Still, it's always, always a shock." He looked over at her. "It takes awhile for your mind to catch up to what's happened."

She returned his even gaze. "And do you think about what it would have been like if you hadn't survived?"

He paused to absorb her words and their double meaning, "Yes."

She swallowed hard. "And you think about..." Her voice caught. "About the people you'd be leaving behind."

"Constantly." He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly as he came to the full realization of what she was asking. "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you."

She swiped at her tears. "Just remember what you promised, okay?"

He nodded solemnly. "I remember." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

They stared at one another as the captain's voice broke in to announce they had been cleared for takeoff. Kimberly squeezed Shane's arm and closed her eyes. He looked over at her and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. He let out a deep sigh and leaned back on the cushioned headrest as the engines picked up to a steady roar and the plane taxied down the runway. The full weight of his promise to his daughter held him down even as the plane swooped up into the bright, sun-filled sky. Everything within him longed to keep that promise, but he also knew, whatever his intentions, there were certain things well beyond his control. The thought of losing them all over again concerned him, but that any harm should come to them because of him flat-out terrified him. If he had to break one promise in order to keep another, he would. He had done it before.

Sunlight flitted between the rows of oval windows as the plane banked left, then straightened out and leveled off. Kimberly stirred and sat up slowly.

Shane looked over at her. "How are you feeling?"

She glanced at him, then down at the hand still holding tightly to hers. "I'm okay." She turned her head to the back of the cabin. "I think I'll go lie down on the couch over there."

"That seems a good idea." He watched her gently extricate her hand from his. "Do you need any help?"

She smiled slightly. "I think I can handle it, cap'n."

He matched her smile with one of his own.

She stood and made her way to the aisle. "I'll be in the back," she told Jeannie as she brushed past her.

Jeannie nodded and replaced her earphones, sifting through the pages of the heavy book on her lap. She looked up to favor her mother with a smile, but it died quickly on her lips. "Mama!" she called out.

Kimberly gripped Jeannie's chair and stumbled backward. Shane jumped to his feet and caught her from behind. "Steady, steady." He clasped her elbows in his hands. He could feel her knees begin to buckle and reached down to pick her up. "Put your arms around me," he instructed, gritting his teeth as her arm encircled his wounded shoulder. "I've got you."

"Shane..."

He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa.

She blinked away the dizziness and focused in on him. "Shane, I'm fine. Really. The plane turned suddenly and..."

"_And _nothing, Ms. Brady," he returned in a stern, schoolmaster voice. "You nearly passed out." He set her down carefully on the wide, cream-colored sofa, gathering throw pillows for her head and a nearby blanket for her feet. "Now, are you sure you're all right?" He squatted beside her. "Maybe we should get you something to eat..." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

She reached up and touched his hand. "Will you stop? I'm just tired. People do get headaches, you know."

"If you're sure that's all it is..." He examined the expression on her face carefully. "I'm sorry to have kept you up so late last night," he said contritely.

Her eyes met his. "You didn't."

Jeannie rushed over, breaking the heavy silence between them. "Mama, are you okay?" She handed her a bottle of water.

Leaning on one elbow, Kimberly made a weak attempt at rolling her eyes. "Come on, guys. You're overreacting." She took a quick sip. "I'm fine. Let a person get some sleep, will you?" She handed the bottle back to Jeannie and patted the pillows behind her.

His eyes steadily on her, Shane nodded and stood to his feet, motioning to Jeannie. "You'll let us know if you need anything?"

She gathered the blanket around her legs and laid back. "Yep. Sure will."

"All right." He put an arm around Jeannie. "Then let's mosey on out of here, pardner," he said in his best attempt at John Wayne.

It was Jeannie's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, Dad..." She shook her head. "I don't know why you even try."

"'Spose there's room for only one actor in the family." He nudged her and smiled with satisfaction at the glimmer of a smile that crossed Kimberly's face as she closed her eyes and settled in to sleep. He followed Jeannie to her seat and watched her reposition the hardcover tome she'd been reading on her lap. He sank into the seat beside her. "What have you got there?"

She flipped to the cover page.

Shane lifted his eyebrows. "Basic algorithms?"

Jeannie shrugged. "My calculus teacher started me on them."

"I see you still like computers," he deduced, intrigued as always by her subdued intelligence.

"Can't get by on Shakespeare alone, you know," she responded coyly.

He laughed. "No, I suppose not." The smile reached his eyes. "So, tell me. What are your plans for next year?" He raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let's see. I remember at one time you wanted to be an astronaut."

"You remember that?" She smiled brightly.

"Yep." He folded his arms. "There was also some talk of your becoming an architect."

She chuckled. "Remember the house I designed for my Barbie?"

"You drew blueprints and everything, as I recall." He studied her varied expressions with inner delight.

"I did, didn't I?" Her voice perked up with excitement. "I guess I've always sort of seen things that way -- blueprints, schematics. You know..."

"Patterns," he finished.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Did, uh... Did Mama tell you?" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I got into Yale."

He smiled.

"Surprised?"

"No." He shook his head. "No, not at all, actually."

Her eyes lit up. "You see, they have this computer science exchange program with Cambridge, so I thought maybe in a couple of years..."

He looked down to disguise the grin spreading across his face. "You sound very determined." Then he thought a minute. "But with your missing so much school... I mean, won't that interfere...?"

"Oh, no," she interrupted. "I've already got all the credits I need." She looked down. "I stayed so I could graduate with my friends."

He sat back and looked at her seriously. "I'll see what I can do to make that happen, princess." He patted her arm, then stood and walked to the bar on the opposite side of the cabin.

Her eyes followed him as he busied himself retrieving a bottle of mineral water from the compact refrigerator. Keeping his back to her, he poured out two glasses, taking a slow sip from one as he leaned an elbow on the counter and stared at Kimberly asleep on the sofa.

Jeannie set her book under her seat and pulled her hair back, winding it into a loose bun and removing the band from her wrist to wrap around it. "You're worried about Mama, aren't you?"

He looked at her. "To be honest, I'm worried about all of you." He walked to her and handed her the second glass. "It's going to take all my attention to keep you safe..." He dropped into the chair beside her. "And while I'm doing that..." He sighed. "Well, sometimes you miss things." He leaned his head on his hand, his thoughts inevitably returning to Kimberly. He was all too familiar with his limitations from bitter experience.

Jeannie followed his gaze. "Maybe I can help you."

He turned back to her. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret asking this, but how?"

"I can keep an eye on Mama and Andrew for you," she said nonchalantly. "If something comes up, I'll let you know."

His mouth turned up in a wry smile. "You mean spy on your mum and brother." He reached up and tweaked her chin gently. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You just said you'll be too busy concentrating on keeping us safe." She gestured toward the front of the plane at the two armed guards stationed behind the cockpit. "And you can't trust the men you hire to take care of them. They don't know them." She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. "I _do_."

He shook his head incredulously. She seemed such a wise soul for her age; he had to remind himself she was barely eighteen. "Now, listen, we've talked about this. I don't want you taking on too much --"

"I'm not." Her voice was level with sincerity. "Please, Daddy. I want to help."

He pursed his lips together as he considered the offer. "If I were to say no, you'd probably do it anyway, wouldn't you?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

They exchanged a small smile.

"Probably," she returned with a shrug.

"That's what I thought." He took a measured sip from his glass. "All right. Then, I'll have to ask you to do something for _me_ in return."

"Okay."

He leaned forward and looked her squarely in the face. "If anything upsets or bothers you, even unrelated to your mother and brother, I want you to promise you'll come and talk to me about it. All right? Sound fair?"

"That's fair." She held out a hand to him. "So, do we have a deal?"

He took her hand in his and sighed. "Deal."

"Good." She grinned.

James stepped up to them. "Uh, Commander? Sorry to interrupt, but there's a phone call for you."

"I'll take it up front. Thank you."

Jeannie glanced at her mother sleeping soundly on the couch. "I'll get to work, too."

Shane stood and paused a moment, looking down on her. "Thanks. I'll be right back." He followed James to a curtained enclave just past the two guards and picked up the telephone. "Donovan here." He slid a hand into his pocket and turned away from the men. "Baltimore, you said?" He paced over to a nearby counter. "And you're positive it's him?" He reached up and gave his earlobe a quick tug. "No. Proceed as planned." He returned his hand to his pocket. "I'd prefer him alive, but do what you have to do." His voice grew deep with determination. "Let me know as soon as you have him." And with that, he rang off and rejoined his daughter.

* * *

**Brady's Pub, Salem, mid-afternoon**

The clanging of the bell at the door echoed throughout the near-empty pub. Caroline looked up from the counter and the balance sheet she'd been studying. Seated on a high stool behind the gleaming oak and brass bar, she flashed her two visitors a wide grin. "Why, hello there!" She pushed herself off the stool and cleared the side of the bar to greet them, wiping her hands on her fern-green apron. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."

"Hi, Ma." Dressed casually in faded jeans and a thick gray sweatshirt, Bo met her halfway and bent down to embrace her warmly. "The lieutenant gov'nor and I just came from the doctor."

Andrew shot his uncle a lopsided grin at the latest moniker he'd saddled him with.

Bo tapped the edge of the bar. "I promised Pop I'd drop in for a sec."

"Yeah. We can't stay long." Leaning heavily on his cane, Andrew sidled up to Caroline and whispered, "He has to return me to the ward before they realize I've gone missing." He looked around nervously.

Caroline laughed and swatted his arm. "Come here, you." She reached up to hug him. "It's good to see you."

"Hi, Grandma." He kissed her cheek, meeting Bo's stare over her shoulder.

"How'd it go?" She pulled back from her grandson and glanced at his leg. "Did he tell you when they're taking your cast off?"

"Next week." Andrew adjusted the collar on his white Polo sweater. Unlike Bo, casual for him usually meant jeans topped with a black or navy sport coat. Today was no exception.

"Good," Caroline chirped.

"So, uh, is Pop in back?" Bo asked, gesturing behind him. "I said I'd check into a zoning issue for him."

The door to the kitchen flapped open and Max entered, carting stacked trays of beer mugs and setting them on the bar as he addressed his older brother. "Pop's been looking for you, you know."

"Aw, jeez." Bo threw up his hands. "I told him I'd be by. Why can't he ever just take me at my word? Where is he?"

"You might want to check the back office." He bent down and shoved a tray of glasses under the wide bar. "He likes to hide in there on inventory days." He straightened and smiled at his mother, giving a nod to Andrew. "Hey."

"Hey." Andrew nodded back.

Caroline turned to Max. "Speaking of which, you'd better get moving on those crates in the store room."

He tossed her a firm salute. "Right away, boss." He followed Bo into the back kitchen and through to the offices.

"So..." Caroline began cautiously. "Your parents and Jeannie are headed home today, huh?" She resumed her high perch on the bar stool.

"Yeah." Andrew gave the room a quick eye-sweep, eager to change the subject. He spotted the standard upright piano in the corner near the far window. "Hey, what do you say, Grandma?" He waddled over to the piano bench and sat down, resting his cane over the sculpted edge of the keyboard and playing a rough glissando. "A little Cole Porter for old times' sake?" His fingers found the melody for _Night and Day_.

Caroline smiled, remembering two summer's ago when Shawn had taken his grandson on an extended fishing trip during an especially drought-ridden season. They returned to the pub, a little dejected at having missed out on their usual catch, but Andrew cheered up his grandfather by playing Irish folk songs, while she and Shawn sang along till they were hoarse. "You certainly know the way to my heart, dear boy," she returned, leaning her elbows on the bar. "And it just so happens that I know the way to _yours_." She sat up and pointed at him. "I did some serious baking again this morning." She hopped off the stool. "I'll be right back." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Andrew grinned, then shifted into the opening arpeggios of _Clocks_ by Coldplay. It had been awhile since he had played, and the keys felt good under his fingertips. He stopped a moment to remove his sport coat, stretch his hands, and crack his knuckles.

Bo popped back in to check on him. "Are you gonna be okay alone here for a bit?"

Andrew bristled. "I think I can handle myself, Uncle Bo."

He glanced at his watch. "Well, you know, I promised David I'd get you home by 2:00, so..."

Andrew shook his head. "I can't believe this," he muttered under his breath, before recovering and tossing out casually: "Any requests?" He played an intro of choppy, percussive chords. "Maybe something classic from the eighties? That's always a crowd pleaser."

Bo sighed. He knew the isolation had been wearing on his nephew all week. He had done his best to keep him occupied as he, of all people, understood this kind of stir craziness. It wasn't fun being kept under wraps, powerless to do anything to change your situation. "Listen, Andrew --" he began, just in time to be drowned out by Andrew's smooth baritone voice and the opening strains of a familiar Billy Joel tune.

_"I don't need you to worry for me, 'cause I'm all right."_ Andrew glared at him briefly. _"I don't need you to tell me it's time to come home..."_

Bo ran a hand over his whiskers and burst out laughing.

_"I don't care what you say anymore, this is_ my _life..."_ The mischievous smile behind Andrew's eyes finally broke through, and he tapered the end of the phrase and raised an eyebrow in the deliberate stillness that followed.

"Okay, okay, I get it." Bo held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll stop buggin' you."

"Thank you," Andrew said curtly, bowing his head slightly in a manner that reminded Bo of Shane. His attitude and singing talent, on the other hand, more closely mirrored his mother's.

Still smiling, Bo shook his head. "I'll be in the back office with Pop if you need me..." He pushed open the kitchen door and continued noncommittally, "which you won't, 'cause you'll kill anyone that walks in here with that screechy voice of yours."

Andrew grabbed his cane and shook it at him. "Don't make me use this."

Bo ducked behind the door and peered through the round window at him.

"I will, you know!" Andrew threatened.

"Yeah, right," Bo drawled. "Nothing freaks me out more than a gimpy kid waving a cane." He punched the door, which swung wide, then fluttered shut behind him.

Andrew laughed, set down his cane, and played a set of lazy jazz chords before the thunderous sound of running footsteps on the side steps by the bar interrupted his train of thought.

"Mrs. Brady!" a lilting, feminine voice called out. "Mrs. Brady, are you down here?" She reached the bottom stair and whipped around, her bright blond hair settling around her shoulders. "Oh." She stopped, her brown eyes lighting on Andrew. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," he quipped, resuming his chord progression.

"Andrew, right?" She squinted at him. "We met at the Valentine's benefit last week."

He nodded in recognition.

"I was listening earlier," she commented, smoothing her black, ruffled blouse over her faded jeans. "You play really well."

"Thanks," he said quietly, glancing furtively at her, before returning his gaze to his hands. "You can call me Andy, you know." His fingers traveled lightly over the keys. "_No one_ calls me Andy," he deadpanned.

She suppressed a giggle. "What a coincidence." She walked over to him. "No one calls me Andy, either." She watched him smile warmly, sensing it to be a rare occurrence.

He cleared his throat and picked up the syncopated rhythm to the melody he had been playing. _"I don't want clever...conversation..."_

"Liar," she interjected, leaning on the edge of the piano.

A quick smile flitted across his features._ "I never want to work that hard..."_

She bit back a second comment, trying to apply what her mother always told her about not saying every little thing that popped into her head.

His voice grew softer. _"I just want someone..."_ He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers for the first time._ "That I can talk to..."_ He stopped playing. After a couple minutes' silence, he looked down and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Sorry about that. The song's a bit cliche, I know. Let me try something else." He transitioned to another slow ballad, stretching the chords out and stringing the melody along. "So, what sends you in search of my grandmother, Abigail?"

She hesitated, caught off-guard. Her father was the only one to ever call her by her given name. Most of the time, she found it too formal and constricting -- she preferred "Abby" -- but somehow, the way he said it just now made it sound almost intimate. "Um...I wanted to ask her if she's seen Uncle Steve." She lifted a finger in the air and rotated it in a circle. "You haven't seen him around here anywhere, have you?"

"Nope," he responded, returning his eyes to the keyboard and filling in the notes to James Blunt's _Beautiful._

"He said he'd meet me here." She glanced at her watch, distracted. "We were gonna have a little good-bye lunch."

"Headed back to Oxbridge?"

"Tomorrow, yeah." She studied him. "How'd you -- ?"

"How'd I know that?" He looked up at her. "You think I'd let you get away with knowing everything about me without learning a single thing about you?"

She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "You know, with all I _do_ know about you..."

"Hey. Watch it," he warned with a wink.

"Which really isn't all that much," she conceded with a chuckle. "I'm kind of surprised by something."

He lifted questioning eyebrows to her.

"You see..." She rested her elbows on the flat top of the piano. "I would have pegged you for an Oxford man. But rumor has it you're at Stanford. Why is that?"

He looked down again, concentrating on the music. "Priorities," he responded quietly_._ "I needed to be near my mom and sister."

"Because your father couldn't be?"

He removed his hands from the keys and rested them on his thighs a minute. Then he gathered his cane and coat and stood up.

_Mom's right,_ she silently berated herself. _I should keep my big mouth shut. _"Andrew," she began. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. I -- "

"Have a safe trip home," he cut in kindly, touching her arm briefly as he passed her, heading for the bar.

She turned to watch him go.

"Sorry!" Caroline burst out of the kitchen with a tray of pastries and set them on the bar. "Bo and I got to talking about little Ciara and -- Abby!" She smiled at the young blonde, as Andrew positioned himself carefully on a bar stool.

"Hi, Mrs. Brady." Abby hung her thumbs on the two front belt loops of her jeans and made her way cautiously over to meet her.

"I'm so absent-minded today," Caroline continued, knocking herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. "I forgot you were here, honey. Have you heard from Steve?"

"Actually, I was gonna ask _you_. I --"

The bell at the front door rang, followed by a booming voice: "Yeah, yeah. I know I'm late, baby. Some fool crashed his Mercedes a block from here and we couldn't get through." He rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Abby turned and smiled at her uncle.

He stepped up to her and gave her a quick hug, then stopped to hug Caroline as well. He turned to Andrew. "Hey, mini-Donovan. How you holdin' up?" He patted his shoulder.

"Can't complain," he tossed off sullenly.

"I'll bet," he responded. After a beat, he turned back to Abby. "Listen, uh, I forgot this was a work day for the Bradys, so I thought maybe we'd try the coffee house around the corner." He gestured behind him. "Stephanie's waiting in the car. She kinda felt uncomfortable coming in..."

Max came through the kitchen door and stopped to exchange looks with Steve before busying himself at the end of the bar as far away from him as possible.

Abby looked from her uncle to Max and back again. "Okay. I'll get my coat." She knew how tough the breakup had been on her cousin. She had to admit, though, she never really understood their relationship. "All set." She pulled on her kelley-green peacoat and looped her purse around her shoulder.

Steve nodded to Caroline. "See ya around, Mama B."

"Bye, Steve." She smiled warmly. "Give that granddaughter of mine a kiss for me."

Steve looked over at Max again. "Yeah, I will." He mussed Andrew's hair. "Take care, dude."

"Yeah. Later," he said, without looking up.

Abby drew up alongside Andrew and stopped. "I'll meet you out there, Uncle Steve."

"Okay. Sure." He wrapped his leather jacket tightly around him, folded his arms, and left.

She brushed up to the bar, grabbed a cocktail napkin, and pulled a pen from her purse.

Andrew cast her a curious sideways glance as she began writing.

"If you hear any good lawyer jokes..." She put the pen back in her purse and handed the napkin to him.

He glanced at the email address written on it, then over at her. "I'll be sure to keep you informed."

She smiled.

He smiled back. "Give my best to the queen."

"Will do." She turned to leave with a friendly wave. "Bye, Mrs. Brady. Bye, Max."

Caroline and Max shouted their good-byes, then Caroline turned her attention back to Andrew. She pulled out a couple of plates and cocktail napkins and began serving him.

"Caroline!" Shawn's voice boomed from the kitchen.

She leaned over the bar and whispered, "Your Grandpa Shawn is in rare form today."

Andrew smiled at her. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, dear. You relax." She patted his arm and turned back to the kitchen.

She passed Max on his way out with more trays of glasses. His light brown eyes met Andrew's briefly, then he moved to the other end of the bar, keeping his head down. "So, are you not talking to me, either?"

Andrew swiveled on his stool. "What happened between you and Stephanie is _your_ business."

Max set a tray on the bar. "Thanks." He sighed, then lifted his head. "I thought you'd go all protective big bro on me."

"First of all," he conceded, "Stephanie told me in no uncertain terms to butt out."

They exchanged quick smiles.

"And secondly..." Andrew poked at his dessert with a fork. "I'm the last person to get on anyone's case right now."

"I hear you." Max put away the last of the glasses and wiped the counter behind him with a cloth. "Probably got enough on your mind, huh?"

Andrew nodded, shifting his focus as he shifted his leg higher on the brass rim of the bar to take some of the weight off. "Hey, Uncle Max..."

Max turned to him and smirked. "I thought we said we'd nix the _uncle_ bit. Makes me feel ancient."

Andrew chuckled. "Okay, _Max..._" He looked at him. "You worked the docks here in Salem, right?"

He picked up a glass and began cleaning it with the cloth. "For a little while, yeah. Why?"

"You see..." Andrew broached the topic as nonchalantly as he could. "I have a friend who's studying maritime law, and we got into this discussion about identifying witnesses in a smuggling case. And, well, we were stuck on how to get in touch with someone who works the docks without going through official channels." He tilted his head. "You know, 'cause when you're building a case, you don't want to tip off the company you're about to sue."

Max shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you know the shipping company's foreman, that would probably be your best bet."

"Yeah. That's what we thought." He pursed his lips. "But what if you only knew the company's name and the port it based its operations in?"

"Depends." He thought a minute. "In a large port, I'd check in with the head of operations. They'd have the names of all the foremen for the various docks and could point you in the right direction. What port are you talking about?"

"It's just a hypothetical, of course." Andrew looked down again and stirred his dessert on the plate. "I was thinking maybe a large East coast port." He picked up a forkful of apple compote. "Something like, uh, Baltimore."


	25. Chapter 24

**Donovan House, Salem, one week later**

A splinter of morning sunlight peeked through a crack in the thick, slate-blue curtains and pricked at Shane's eyelids but failed to lift them as he continued to toss and turn in bed, images flashing before him. In his mind, he saw the sun-dappled maple trees of his boyhood home standing guard like army sentries over the rolling countryside that stretched out for acres behind the manor. He could hear the faraway shouts of his father's friends and the periodic _thwack!_ of a cricket bat; visualize his mother on the wide patio straightening the cutlery on a row of linen-topped tables, with brightly dressed women arrayed like carnations around her and a small gaggle of servants puttering about to assist. Suddenly, a clipped and solid voice broke through the summer afternoon haze and burst into Shane's consciousness like a hammer:

"_What the devil is _he_ doing here?!" Andrew Donovan, Shane's sturdy, sandy-haired father, turned from the game, bat in hand, and shielded his hazel eyes from the sun to view the coming entourage of men, headed by a tall, dark-haired figure weaving through a line of hedgerows on the far side of the gardens. Still holding the bat and flanked by three of his friends from the now defunct cricket match, Andrew marched purposefully up the small slope to the flagstone patio, where two burly men emerged from their watch-post and joined him._

_Startled by her husband's tone of voice, Margaret ran a worried hand over her black, neatly pinned curls, then wiped her hands on her ruffled apron and whipped round to greet the unexpected visitor. Her charcoal eyes grew wide with recognition and she turned anxiously back to Andrew as he approached her, touching her arm gently, protectively, his eyes fixed on the approaching men._

"_Gather the boys," he said in a hushed but firm manner._

_She hesitated, her eyes seeking his. "What does he want?"_

_He looked at her calmly. "That's precisely what I intend finding out." He took a step away from her, but she detained him by the elbow._

_"What are you going to do?"_

_He turned back to her. "I'll simply stress once again that he and Father are unwelcome here," he assured her. Then he took her trembling hand in both of his and patted it. "Trust me, Jeannie. Hmm?"_

_She nodded slowly, resolutely._

_"That's my girl." He touched her chin with the tip of his thumb and resumed his trek to greet the lanky stranger who had halted near a leafy archway in the garden, hands stuffed in his light gray pants pockets, his men fanning out a discreet distance behind. _

_Margaret looked to her right and motioned to a portly, white-haired woman in a flowered dress standing by the barn doors of the stables. The woman waved her arms in flowing circles as if gathering fluffy chicks under her wings and escorted a group of children up the hill where their mothers waited to take them to the front of the house. A set of four imposing men emerged from their posts and assisted the group, with some of the women's husbands joining the exodus and others staying behind, their attention trained on the scene set to unfold._

_"Nanny Rose." Margaret stepped up to the woman. "Aren't the boys with you?"_

_"Oh, no, my dear," she responded between puffs of air as she regained her breath. "They came back up here...more than twenty minutes ago."_

_The women's eyes locked in understanding. Then they looked up simultaneously at the thick twist of branches belonging to the stately oak tree that rose like a giant between the edge of the patio and the garden path._

_Nanny wagged a finger at a small, dark-haired boy perched on a low branch. "Get down here this instant, young man!"_

_"But, Nan..." the seven-year-old whined. Still, knowing the full consequences of ignoring that particular stare, he quickly complied with her request. He hit the ground and straggled over to his mother._

_"Where's your brother?" Margaret asked, her eyes darting about._

_All three looked around in time to spot a slim boy as he dropped from the other side of the tree and ran up the lawn towards his father._

_"Shane!" Margaret called after him, turning fleetingly back to Rose. "Take Drew round the side of the house with the others." She lifted the edges of her tulip-shaped, yellow skirt and chased after her son. "Shane!"_

_Andrew planted his feet squarely on the stone pathway between the house and the garden and folded his arms. Three quiet, muscular men came up alongside him, eyeing the grounds, each other, and their counterparts behind the man who towered before them. __The man removed his sunglasses and tucked them neatly in the breast pocket of his pale gray linen shirt._

_Andrew lifted his chin at him. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"_

_A hard smile creased the man's face as he surveyed the bulldog of a man in front of him against the idyllic setting of verdant, manicured lawns and gardens. "Don't go gettin' all narky on me, Andrew," he said in a low Irish brogue. "Can't a man enjoy a day in the country once in awhile?"_

_Scurrying footsteps interrupted the unbending stare between the two men, their eyes turning downward to __the disheveled boy dressed in navy plaid shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt. The boy looked unblinkingly up at them._

_"Shane!" Margaret called emphatically as she caught up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and catching her breath. "Don't you _ever_ run from me like that again! Do you hear me?"_

_"Yes, ma'am," came his automatic response._

_The dark-haired man rested his eyes on Margaret a moment, then bobbed his head at her cordially. "Good to see you, Maggie," he said softly. "It's been too long." _

_Andrew stiffened, fists forming at his sides, watching intently as t__he man squatted low, his dark green eyes level with the boy's. _

_"And you must be Shane," the man said. "Pleasure to meet ya." He extended a hand._

_Shane completed the handshake, then shot back suspiciously: "What do you want with my father?"_

_The man lifted his eyebrows approvingly. "Fair play, that." He straightened and glared at Andrew. "Been coachin' the lad, I see."_

_Shane squinted his eyes at the bright sun that framed the dark stranger -- the backlight causing the man's features to blend together and blacken like an underdeveloped photograph._

_"Leave him alone, Rory," Margaret pleaded in a brittle tone, holding her son against the fullness of her skirt and wrapping her arms across his chest._

_Andrew cast his wife a pointed look, then inserted a wide arm between her and the man and bent down to speak with Shane. "Go with your mother, son."_

_"Aren't you coming?" he asked._

_"I'll be along shortly," Andrew returned, his voice growing stern. "Now, do as I say."_

_"Yes, sir." He reluctantly agreed, allowing his mother to turn him by the shoulders as they readied to leave._

_"Be seein' ya, Shane." The stranger winked at him. "And your brother, too."_

_Andrew stood to his full height, drawing to within inches of the man's face and shoving a finger at him. "I don't know why you've come and I don't care to venture a guess, but for the last time -- stay away from __my family!" __Shane could hear his father's voice rise exponentially as his mother dragged him away. "Do I make myself clear?!"_

_Pulling Shane along by the hand, Margaret broke into a run. As they moved swiftly across the patio, Shane glanced behind him, nearly stumbling, as__ distant yells escalated into scuffles and the men on both sides rushed at each other._

_His mother yanked on his arm and quickened the pace. "Hurry, Shane! Run!"_

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and turned over in his sleep, punching the pillow under his head as the vision blurred and faded. A singular voice echoed in his brain as a new, darker vision formed...

_"I'm not an eejit, Freddy. Why should I spare you?" the deep voice boomed in the musty, dank cavern._

_"Because, I..." The balding man coughed, grasping at his bleeding side. "I delivered..." He gasped. "I brought him to you. I thought -- " He coughed and wheezed. "I thought you'd be grateful."_

_"Fair play, that," the deep voice uttered, eerily calm. _

_Shane could hear a low chuckle, followed by the thud of a quick and forceful kick, then a sharp cry, pinched with pain. _

_"Shame of it is," the voice continued. "I've always been a bit of an ungrateful bugger." He forced a laugh. "Take him outside," he commanded. "Make it look good for our friends at the ISA. Remember, he was killed in the explosion." _

_Shane could feel someone's eyes on him, but found it impossible to move or even muster the strength to open his eyes. _

_"They_ both _were..." the voice emphasized strongly..._

Shane sat bolt upright in bed, beads of sweat dripping down his back, his breath coming in short bursts and his heart beating wildly. He rubbed a hand down over his eyes, blinking at the sage-green coverlet he had kicked to the floor in his sleep and taking in the familiar surroundings of the master bedroom as they came gradually into focus. He stared at the edge of the bed a minute, filling his lungs with steady streams of air. Then he swallowed hard and sat back, resting his head against the headboard and closing his eyes. _Who the hell is Rory?_ he puzzled. That deep, sinister voice had haunted him ever since Prague, but he had never been able to put a face to it, or a name. _Who the hell is he? _He opened his eyes and reached past the cell phone on the nightstand for the secure phone next to it. He punched two buttons and listened for the voice on the other end. "Nico? I need you to do something for me." He wiped the sweat from his brow with his free hand. "I need you to cross-reference the name Rory against all the information we have on the Donovan organization." _How do I know him? _He ran a hand hurriedly through his hair._ How did Father know him?_ He blinked to clear his mind. "No, I don't have a surname. Just Rory. R-o-r-y. Oh, and be sure and ask our new friend Oliver to check into it, too." He nodded. "Yeah. Make it a priority. I'll be here. Thanks." He turned the phone off and leaned his head back again, pressing his palms to his eyes. _And why am I remembering all this now? _He let out a frustrated sigh.

* * *

**Office of Dr. Marlena Evans-Black, later that afternoon**

The corners of Marlena's mouth turned up in a warm, tender smile as she settled into the brown leather chair behind her desk, propped her elbows on the armrests and formed a tent with her hands. "So, we've talked around it for..." She glanced up at the antique clock on the wall. "Over an hour now." She tapped her fingers together and narrowed her deep brown eyes. "Are you going to level with me?"

Kimberly halted mid-step, holding the edge of the teacup to her lips with one hand and the saucer in the other. They had discussed the children, the mystery surrounding Shane's disappearance, the danger they were all in, but not once had she expressed her true feelings about his being a part of their lives again. Truth is, she hadn't been able to sort through how she really felt. The events since New Year's had rained down on her like rolling waves, leaving her barely a moment to lift her head above water and survey her surroundings before another came crashing over her. And the latest developments had unnerved her even more. The sudden loss of Peachy, the shooting, Shane's letters, the feel of his arms around her -- his lips on hers -- everything came together at once, forcing a confession from her she wasn't ready for. So, after a week of distancing herself from him, avoiding her feelings as best she could by immersing herself in casework and the children, she agreed to a late lunch with Marlena, knowing full well she needed more than just an afternoon with a colleague, a sympathetic friend, or a sounding board. She was still treading water, looking for solid ground, hoping the next wave would be kind and carry her closer to shore -- praying it wouldn't drag her under even further. She placed the cup gently on the saucer and turned back to Marlena. "Are you asking as a therapist or a friend?"

Marlena leaned forward, placing her lavender silk-clad arms on the desk and returning Kimberly's teasing stare. "I'm asking you as family."

Kimberly gave her a grateful smile and stepped back to the flaxen-yellow chair, sinking down into it and setting her teacup on a side table. She took a moment to smooth her teal skirt, before crossing her legs and straightening the wide cuffs on her matching satin blouse. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyes to Marlena's circumspectly. "All right, I'll admit it. I'm scared."

"It makes perfect sense you would be with all that's happened." Marlena glanced up at the closed door to her office, considering who stood beyond it in the hallway, waiting. "You have armed guards surrounding you twenty-four hours a day..."

"No." Kim shook her head. "That's not it."

Marlena tilted her head to the side and said softly, "I know."

"Figures." Kim sighed, resting her head back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling. "It took me more than half my life to really lay claim to myself, to bury my past and all the demons associated with it..." She lifted her head, rubbing the back of her neck as she met Marlena's eyes once more. "To start to put my needs ahead of other people's once in awhile."

"And now here he is." Marlena finished the thought.

"Yeah. Here he is." She put her hands on the chair and pushed herself to a standing position. "And he needs me," she added solemnly, still rubbing at the base of her neck.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's just a feeling I have." _And Peachy's infallible insight,_ she said to herself. She folded her arms and began to pace the room. "Truth is, I've held onto that feeling for a long time. Ever since..." She turned back to her. "Since just before we lost him." She inhaled sharply. "Correction..." She poked an index finger in the air. "Since before he led us to believe we lost him," she added with a trace of bitterness. Knowing the reasons for his actions only lessened the hurt of the lie by degrees, she'd discovered.

"I remember when you thought he had died..." Marlena's voice dropped off and she looked down for a moment, pierced yet again with the ache of a more personal loss. Memories of John invaded her thoughts when she least expected them.

Kim looked over at her, her heart in her throat. "Oh, Marlena. I'm so sorry." She approached her and took her hand. "How insensitive of me..."

"It's okay. We talked about me at lunch, remember?" Marlena cleared her throat softly. "And you promised me then you'd tell me what's going on with _you_ for a change." She squeezed her hand. "You're not gonna weasel out of your promise, are you?"

Kimberly took the well-placed hint. "Who me?" She smiled sweetly. "Of course not." Their eyes locked for a minute to mark the empty space with a depth of understanding that could only come from truly knowing what the other was going through.

Then Marlena quietly and deliberately picked up the thread, "You know, when you lost Shane..." Her eyes still held the sadness from moments before, instantly transferring it to Kimberly. "What struck me the most is, you didn't seem surprised by it. It was like you'd been expecting it."

Kim went back in her mind to that time. She had told no one except Peachy how she really felt: that she wasn't completely convinced he was actually dead. Now, looking at it through Marlena's eyes, she supposed, on some level, she _had_ been expecting it. The feeling was there; real or imagined, she had picked up on it from Shane somehow. "I knew what he was up against, even though he never gave me the details." She rubbed her hands over her arms as if to ward off a chill. "I knew after what they did to him in Prague...Or rather, what he wouldn't say they did to him..." Her voice trailed off as one thought tumbled over another. "It changed him, Marlena. Made him more guarded, distant. But, ironically, at the same time, he was never more like the man I fell in love with than he was then."

"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing the answer from experience, but waiting patiently for Kimberly's response.

Kim resumed pacing, walking to the latticed window. "You know better than anybody how much he hurt me. More than anyone ever has, I think."

Marlena nodded with understanding.

"But I dealt with all that." Kim stared out the window at the budding tree limbs and the first crocus flowers of the season, poking their heads out of a nearby flower box. "And I was willing to push aside whatever residual feelings I had because I owed it to him. I owed it to Andrew and Jeannie and the memory of their father..." Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she swallowed hard. "But I also owed it to the memory of the man who..." She bit her lip. "Who held me in his arms one long night in Rome..." She drew a shaky breath. "And made me feel more accepted..." She brushed the tears aside. "And loved and cherished in that one night than I had in years."

"I remember when you told me how much that meant to you." Marlena looked over at her.

"You were the only one I _could_ tell." Kim turned to meet her gracious stare. "It was as if he really saw me again, you know? That he knew who I was and, more importantly, he knew who _he_ was. As if the man I first fell in love with had finally come home..." She moved away from the window and paced back to the chair. "But then he pulled away from me again. Only, this time, he didn't do it out of spite or confusion; he did it to protect me." She picked up her teacup and took a slow sip. "And, as it turns out, to protect Andrew..." She stared at the tightly woven beige carpet, lost in thought, hearing the latent strains of guilt that laced Shane's voice whenever he spoke of his son. The wounds from the kidnapping and his helplessness in the face of it had never healed, and probably never would.

Marlena stood to her feet, walked to the front of the desk and sat on its edge, crossing her arms in front of her. "Now, as your family..." She let her words hang in the air a minute. "Let me ask you the one question you've probably been asking yourself since the day he came back."

Kim smiled faintly. Having a dialogue with Marlena was like looking in a mirror. She saw through every artifice effortlessly. It helped having someone else ask the discomfiting questions for a change. She looked up at her. "Do I trust him?"

Marlena raised her eyebrows. "Well, do you?"

"I trust him with my life." Kim returned the cup and saucer to the table. "He's proven himself there."

"Kimberly Brady..." Marlena shook her head at her. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Kim's eyes sparkled. "You also knew I'd throw that back at you, didn't you?"

Marlena chuckled. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Well..." All mischief left Kim's eyes as she returned to the window. "The simple, yet infinitely complicated answer is: I don't know." She shrugged, glancing back at Marlena briefly. "He says he can't trust himself."

Marlena lowered her voice. "Has he told anyone what really happened to him in Prague?"

"I don't think so." Kim lifted the curtain to look outside once more. "Oh, I'm sure he told the ISA psychiatrists exactly what they wanted to hear, in order to get reinstated as quickly as possible."

"That does sound like him." Marlena uncrossed her arms and leaned back on the desk.

Kim let the curtain fall back into place. "And there's more to it." She turned to face Marlena. "More than he'll allow himself to tell me, maybe even more than he knows."

"And you're afraid for him."

Kimberly nodded, the breath leaving her body as she admitted, "I want to help him."

"I see," Marlena returned knowingly.

"So, now..." Kim drew an unsteady breath. "If you could just tell me how I do that without losing myself this time..." She lifted her shoulders in an attempt to appear casual, but her eyes brimmed with new tears and she turned back to the window.

* * *

"You lost him, just like that?" Roman checked his rearview mirror out of force of habit and made a right onto a boulevard lined with brownstones and dotted with trees planted equidistant along the grass median. "I thought you traced him to Baltimore."

Shane rested his elbow against the passenger side door and leaned his head on his fist. "Someone must have tipped him off." He sighed. "My man had him, right there. He had his exact location pinpointed and then..." He dropped his fist into the palm of his other hand, then looked over at Roman. "You'll never guess where he found him."

Roman cast him a sidelong glance. "I'm all ears."

He peered at Roman intently. "Working as a temporary dockhand for a little-known but well-funded subsidiary of Allied Shipping."

Roman pulled alongside the curb and parked his silver El Dorado. He removed his sunglasses and turned to Shane. "Now, where do I know that name from?"

"It would take some digging for anyone who hasn't been paying close attention, but..." he added sarcastically, "fortunately for me, I remember investigating that very same company twenty years ago."

Roman lifted the latch on his door and exited the car, eyeing Shane across the wide hood. "You don't mean...?"

"Yep." Shane returned his look. "Victor Kiriakis."

Roman led the way into the lobby of the red-brick building, stepped up to the elevator, and punched the "up" arrow. "So, he knew where to find him all along?"

Shane shrugged. "That's assuming he also knew it was Winters who attacked Andrew in the first place."

"And that's a pretty reasonable assumption to make," Roman replied, stepping onto the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. He looked over at Shane cautiously, the silence telling him not to pursue the subject any further.

Shane shoved his hands in his pockets, grateful Roman hadn't asked the next, most obvious question. He was in no mood to face the implications of Victor's possible involvement with Cal. "So...I thought we were headed to the hospital," he said, making small talk for cover.

"Got an errand to run first," Roman returned smoothly as the doors closed.

Shane sized him up carefully. "I sort of figured that. Why bring me along?" The doors slid open and, as they stepped out, Shane read the top name on the wall directory and stopped, shaking his head. "I might have known."

Roman turned back to him, straightening the collar of his scuffed leather jacket. "Listen, it won't do you any harm to talk to her. You said you remembered something. She may be able to help or, at least, point you in the right direction."

Shane peered at him skeptically.

"Come on." Roman clapped him on the back as they strode to the end of the hall and up to a rough-looking man wearing a gun holster, seated outside the office door.

"Wilson..." Shane furrowed his brow.

The man stood, setting his magazine on the chair. "How are you, sir?" He proffered a hand.

"Kimberly's here?" Shane shook his hand. "I thought she'd be at the hospital."

"Been here all afternoon," Wilson reported dutifully.

Keeping one eye on Shane, Roman rapped rhythmically on the door, then tried and turned the knob. "Hello there, doc," he said cheerily as he burst into the office.

Marlena smiled.

"Or, should I say 'docs'?" he hastily corrected himself, moving in to give his sister a big hug.

"Roman..." Kim's eyes brightened. "What are you doing here?"

He glanced back at Shane. "Just dropping something off," he tossed out, releasing Kimberly and smoothing his hands over his woven navy shirt.

Shane smirked at him, remaining in the doorway, hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat. His eyes sought Kimberly's. "I thought you were going to the hospital with Andrew."

"I'm about to head over there now," she replied.

Marlena wrinkled her brow. "Is everything all right, Kim?"

Kimberly whirled around. "Oh, Marlena, he's fine." She covered her mouth briefly with a hand. "Can't believe I forgot to mention it. He gets his cast removed today." She glanced at her watch. "In about an hour, I think."

"That's great news." Marlena looked at Roman then back at Kim. "Well, you should get over there, huh?" She stepped over and hugged her. "I enjoyed our lunch today. Let's do this more often."

"I'd like that," Kim responded warmly. "Thank you, Marlena." They smiled quiet smiles at each other, then Kim reached for her coat from the coat rack. Shane grabbed it first, assisting her on with it. She lifted her hair over the collar and craned her neck back to address him. "Are you heading over?"

"I don't think he wants me there, Kim," Shane responded guardedly, lifting his hands from her shoulders.

"You don't know that." She pivoted to face him, the look he sent her confirming that her feeble attempt to deny the truth had failed. "Okay." She lifted her eyebrows. "So, you're _not _going over..."

He paused, putting an index finger to his sealed lips. "Actually, I was planning to drop by..." He rocked back on his heels and wrinkled his nose. "Thought I'd at least give him the option of kicking me out."

"Literally," she added with a ready smile.

"I'll admit, I would like to see that," he returned easily.

She started for the hallway. "Can I give you a lift?"

Roman exchanged a quick look with Marlena, then followed Kimberly out and put an arm around her. "Um, if you don't mind, I need to borrow Shane for a bit."

Shane joined them in the hallway. "Oh. Uh, that's right." He looked over at Roman and cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, catch you up in a half-hour or so."

Kimberly pulled her trenchcoat around her and tied the sash. "Okay," she said slowly, eyeing them both. "I'll see you later, then?"

Shane nodded to her as she and Wilson stepped onto the elevator.

"Bye." Roman gave her a quick wave as the doors closed.

Marlena looked over at Shane, her eyes then narrowing and zooming in on Roman. "Would anyone care to fill me in on what just happened?"

Shane jerked a thumb in Roman's direction. "Ask _him._"

"Just_ talk_ to her. All right?" he returned impatiently. Then he leaned over and touched Marlena's arm gently. "I'll see you for dinner. Around 8:00?"

Marlena smiled softly and nodded. She folded her arms about her and watched Roman give one last nod to Shane and head for the stairs.

They stood in the hallway for a few minutes until the door to the stairwell banged shut and they were alone. Marlena then turned her attention to Shane. "Kimberly's worried about you, you know."

He glanced over at her. "She needn't be." He folded his arms and sighed. "She should be thinking about herself." He paused for a moment, kicking at the carpet lightly. "Me?" He lifted his head and strolled casually past Marlena into her office. "I'm fine."

Marlena's eyes tracked him closely, taking note of his efforts to remove himself from the equation. "Are you?"

He turned back to her. "I have to be," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Who says?"

He met her unflinching stare, then pursed his lips and looked away, running a hand along the edge of a chair.

She closed the door behind them and stepped up to the sideboard. "Can I get you anything?" She poured out two cups of tea from a pewter thermos.

"No, thank you." Shane shifted from one leg to the other. "Listen, Marlena...I know you mean well." He looked at her, dropping his hands at his sides. "You and Roman both do." She held out a cup and saucer, and he took them from her with a wry smile. "I just don't see how this will help matters any." He blew on the cup and took a quick sip.

"You mean it won't change anything." She took her cup to the chair next to him and sat down. "Kimberly and the children are still in danger and you have to protect them." She set her cup on the table. "What's there to talk about?"

Glossing over his mild annoyance at her well-intended comments, he plunged ahead with the perfunctory explanation. "I have to focus all my energies on trapping this madman and destroying his hold over my family once and for all." He turned away from her. "I don't have time for..." He shrugged. "Self-indulgence."

She nodded slowly. "As a matter of fact, you don't have time for yourself at all. Isn't that how it works, Shane?"

He spun round to face her. "How what works?"

"You can't tell me you don't know."

"_Assignments like this take 98 percent of you." _He could hear Peachy's voice wafting softly over the chilled, night air during a stakeout years before. _"Leaving two percent for Kimberly."_ He heard himself say._ "It's hardly fair, is it?" _He inhaled sharply, his thoughts returning to the present. He nodded his acknowledgment to Marlena, turning his back to her once more.

"You deliberately sacrifice yourself to save others," Marlena continued serenely. "It's what you do."

He walked past her to the sideboard and set his cup on it.

"It's what you've always done," she added quietly. Though she knew the difference professionally, it was hard to separate her words to Shane from what she might have said to her own husband, were he still alive. "You jump on the bomb before it explodes to prevent others from getting hurt."

"Doesn't always work," he returned bitterly.

Marlena's eyes brimmed with tears. "No, it doesn't." She took a breath to clear her head. "Why are you still here, Shane?" She stood and approached him. "If talking about it is so...selfish, so pointless..."

He leaned his hands on the edge of the sideboard, keeping his head down, refusing eye contact. "What if..." He swallowed as his mouth went dry. "What if the real threat lies somewhere locked inside me?" He turned slowly, reluctantly. "What if my very presence here is a danger to them?" He lifted uncertain eyes to hers. "How do I protect them then?"

She squinted at him and replied in a gentle voice, "Maybe you can't."

"No, no." He shook his head forcefully. "That's not an option." He took a long, heavy breath, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Marlena, I think I need your rather serious help."


	26. Chapter 25

**Donovan House, early evening**

Kimberly parted ways with her bodyguard for the evening, pulled her keys from her purse, and opened the front door, shutting it behind her and leaning against it, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. She reached up and rubbed the base of her neck. It had been bothering her all day. She needed to get back in the habit of morning yoga stretches. The stress was definitely getting to her. She kicked off her heels and hung up her trench coat in the foyer before stepping quietly over to the bar, her grey-green eyes scanning the living room, looking for signs of life. Only two table lamps lit the space and the house held an air of undisturbed quiet, leading her to conclude that Shane hadn't returned home yet. She wondered where he was. He had failed to show up at the hospital as promised. Perhaps the _errand _Roman had sent him on took longer than expected. She was smart enough to know when her brother was being evasive, but she didn't dare to hope Shane had actually stayed and talked with Marlena. It was hard to imagine his seeking her help -- or anyone's, for that matter -- even if he needed it. She pulled a glass tumbler from behind the bar and reached for the sculpted water pitcher from the counter when a strange, tingling sensation shot through her right arm. She flexed her hand, clenching and unclenching it several times to get the circulation going. She reached up to her neck again. _Maybe I pinched a nerve,_ she thought. _I can't think how._ She ignored the numbness she felt and lifted the pitcher by the handle, but her arm failed to support the weight and she dropped the pitcher on the edge of the bar, sending shards of glass everywhere and water splashing over the countertop and down the front of her.

Shane heard the crash, followed by a light, gasping cry, and shot out of his office. "What the...?" He stopped momentarily to focus in on Kimberly standing behind the bar, brushing at her blouse. "Are you okay?" He rushed over to her.

Startled by his voice, she looked up, then pursed her lips. "It's -- I'm fine. It slipped..." She rubbed at her hand and attempted to shake away the numbness. "It's just me being clumsy." She let out a self-derisive sigh. "As usual." She bent at the knees to pick at the glass on the tiled strip of floor behind the bar.

"Don't --" He grabbed a cloth from the side rail. "You'll cut yourself." He bent down next to her. "Here. Let me get it." He patted the floor with the cloth, then reached for another one from behind the bar and handed it to her, watching as she mopped up the water from her neckline and dabbed at her wet blouse and skirt with it. He forced himself to return to the task at hand, wiping around her, as she stood up and dropped the cloth on the counter, letting it soak up the puddle forming there.

"I didn't know anyone was home." _Home._ She caught herself saying it aloud this time. She held her arms at her sides, shook the excess water from her sleeves, then rubbed her hands over her blouse, still feeling the tingling sensation in her right hand.

"Yes, well..." He spotted her bare feet and touched her calf lightly to prevent her from stepping back. "Careful." He gently removed his hand from her leg to pick up several sharp pieces of glass from the floor behind her.

She cleared her throat softly. "I'll go see if I can find a broom." She tip-toed around the bar.

He swiped at any remaining splinters he could find and stood, gathering all the pieces together with the cloth and pushing them off the counter into a waste bin he had retrieved from a lower cabinet. When she returned with a hand broom and a dust pan tucked under her left arm, he promptly took them from her. "I'll take care of this. You might want to get out of those..." He eyed her closely. "Wet clothes."

"Oh." She looked down, blushing slightly. "Yes. Of course. I'll, uh..." She motioned behind her. "I'll go change."

"Have you eaten?" He blurted out, surprising himself.

She turned back to him and smiled. "What is it today? Everyone's been trying to feed me."

He looked at her quizzically.

"Bo and Hope took the kids out to dinner to celebrate Andrew's cast being taken off." She shrugged. "I told them I wasn't that hungry."

"So, how did it go?" he asked quietly. "With Andrew?"

"Oh. Fine," she assured him.

"He's okay then?"

"Yes. Dr. Everett says his leg's healing nicely." She crossed her arms in front of her to warm herself. "He still has the cane, and there'll be a few weeks of physical therapy, but..."

His eyes met hers fleetingly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

She nodded, allowing the silence that followed to serve as explanation. She shivered. "I'm gonna go upstairs and change."

"Of course." The tenor of his voice still carried the apology. "I'll, uh..." He motioned to the bar with the broom and dust pan.

"Okay." She turned to leave.

He took a quick breath to hide his hesitation. "You sure you're not hungry? I mean..." He lifted his eyebrows. "I could whip up something light."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are _you_ hungry?"

"I asked you first," he returned with lopsided grin.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you have in mind?"

He lowered his voice mysteriously. "Chef's secret." He swept the broom through the air, brushing her away. "Now, go on. Dry off, get changed, get comfortable." He winked at her. "And let me work my magic."

She grinned and pointed to the phone in the back hallway. "Pizza delivery's on speed dial. Number 5, I think."

He put the dust pan to his chest. "I'm deeply offended you would even suggest that." He brushed at the air again with the broom. "Now, get thee hence, woman, before I change my mind and send you to bed with no supper."

Her eyes widened mischievously. "Why, yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir."

He watched her scamper up the stairs with new-found energy and smiled to himself.

* * *

Holding the phone to his ear, Shane lifted the diaphanous curtain on the set of French doors and peered out into the night. A thick fog had set in, rolling in off the lake and bathing the lamp posts by the dock in a soupy, yellow mist. The sight of one of the guards passing near the house reassured him he still had control over one thing at the moment. He shoved his hand in his pocket and turned from the glass doors. "And there's no record of him _at all_?" He sighed, listening to Nico's detailed explanation, which included the fact that Oliver mentioned the name Shane had given them in mixed company in Dublin this morning, receiving no reaction whatsoever. In and of itself, Nico related to Shane, the non-reaction seemed awfully suspicious. "I agree," Shane added. "Might be best if he just nosed around a bit but didn't mention the name again. We don't want to alert anyone to Oliver's purpose there." Shane rubbed his eyes. "In the meantime, what about cross-referencing the name with Jericho's?" The slice of the dream he could remember from this morning left him with the distinct feeling Alfred had known this Rory person. It also left Shane feeling highly uncomfortable about what he _couldn't_ remember and, apparently, hadn't remembered for years. The thought had shaken him, causing him to doubt his ability to follow this new lead anywhere useful.

Sensing his frustration, Nico agreed to check into it as swiftly as possible, but Shane could hear his own uncertainty echo back in the seasoned agent's response: "But I am afraid that trail may have gone cold, my friend."

"I know." Shane paced in front of the fireplace -- the warmth of the new fire he had built, coupled with the crackling of the wood and the smell of hickory, flooded his mind with memories of his life here with Kimberly. His eyes travelled up to the mantle and the photograph of the English firehouse he had presumptuously positioned there. Right now this house seemed just as still and lifeless -- a single moment in time captured in a solid frame. Pictures of yesterday. Only pictures. But those pictures had led him back here all those years ago. Now more pictures crowded his mind, waiting to be sorted and identified at last. Being here must have triggered something very deeply and deliberately buried. He could only guess what it was. He sat on the edge of the sofa and ran a hand over his forehead. "Nico..."

"Yes?" The veteran spy responded softly, recognizing the desperation in Shane's voice.

"I know that voice."

Nico nodded to himself, recalling the start of their conversation. Shane had identified the voice in his dream as his interogater's in Prague. They now had a name to go with the voice. "We _will _find him, Donovan," he assured him.

Shane let out an enormous breath. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Kimberly leaned back against the wall by the foot of the stairs. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but upon coming downstairs, the quiet uncertainty in Shane's voice made her stop cold in her tracks. She didn't want to disturb him; he seemed so distraught already.

"And now there's a possibility my parents knew him..." Shane continued. "That he was there with Jericho, that _he_ could be the one responsible for my memory loss..." He stood and pounded the sofa table behind him. "Dammit! All those years!" _Wasted years of walking around in a fog..._ "Being played like a fool."

Nico stayed silent on his end of the line, letting his friend absorb the blow.

Shane resumed pacing, attempting to let out his pent-up frustration with the activity, forcing his mind to focus. "There has to be a connection to Grandfather."

"Yes," Nico commiserated. "I believe there very well might be."

Shane paced silently for a few minutes, then halted by the writing desk in front of the French doors. "I need you to set up a secure call with my brother."

Kim craned her neck round the corner a moment.

"I _know_ he's been uncooperative, Nico," he barked, impatiently. "But I have to at least try. There might be a further connection." They had decided to keep Drew in protective custody in London since the standoff at Peachy's funeral. It seemed that with his track record at present, they would have only one chance to use him to get to his boss, and they had to choose their timing wisely. "Perhaps Rory is the _real_ reason Drew's afraid they'll kill him. His link to our family is strong enough.." In his mind, Shane went one step further. Maybe Rory was, in fact, the boss, the singular man behind it all, and had been from the beginning. If so, Drew would definitely know.

Kim watched him press his hand against the desktop and lean on it heavily, still gripping the phone tightly with his other hand. His shoulders drooped low. The posture was out of character for him.

"Just do it, Nico." Shane sighed. "The sooner the better."

Hearing the phone beep off, Kimberly ducked back into the shadow of the archway door. Then she smoothed her hands over her shirt, relieved that the numbness in her hand had all but dissipated, and stepped into the living room. She held her head at an angle, her hands laced together behind her back, and examined him a moment. "Are you all right?"

He blinked and looked up at her. "I didn't hear you come down." He straightened and turned to face her. "You look..." _more beautiful than ever, _he finished silently, taking in the sight of her in relaxed, faded jeans and a long-sleeved, white-cotton T-shirt, her hair quickly combed through and loose over her shoulders. It had been a rare sight to see her dressed down over the years; always a lady, she dressed elegantly and appropriately for every occasion -- one of the things he admired about her. But he enjoyed her most like this: soft, comfortable, rumpled, _sexy as hell_. He cleared his throat and strode over to the bar, draped a dry dish towel over one shoulder and turned away from her.

"So, who was that on the phone?" she asked innocently.

He deftly removed the foil from the neck of a bottle of chardonnay and jammed in the corkscrew, twisting the cork free. "Nico." He turned to her slightly. "He sends his regards." He set the bottle back on the bar and tossed the cork into the waste bin behind it.

She nodded as she approached him and climbed onto one of the high, leather stools. Lit, tapered candles stood on either end of the speckled-marble bartop; dim, recessed lighting overhead reflected off the bone china and silverware set before her. She traced a finger absently over the stem of a crystal wine glass. "Are you going to fill me in on what you two talked about?" she prodded gently.

He looked at her briefly. "Listen, why don't you pour yourself some wine, and I'll see to dinner, hmm?" He tried to slip past her.

"Shane..."

He paused. "Could you pour me a glass, too? I could really use one."

"Or several," she returned kindly.

"Mm." He squeezed her arm lightly. "Thanks." He took off in the direction of the kitchen. "Won't be a tick," he called back.

She watched him leave, then poured out two glasses of wine. Sliding her fingers round the stem of one of the goblets and resting the bowl in her palm, she lifted it to her lips, letting the sweet, buttery taste linger in her mouth before swallowing. She then inched the bar stool round, her eyes surveying the shadowy room in its entirety. She felt a million miles removed from what had once been her house. It belonged to strangers now, ghosts from the past, the family they used to be. It seemed dull, two-dimensional, almost cold, but for the fire snapping in the hearth. She hopped down from the bar stool, reached back for her wine, and walked over to the accent table where Jeannie had set her iPod to charge and hooked it up to speakers. She picked it up and scrolled through several playlists till she found the one marked _Mom_ and smiled; it was still there. When Jeannie was younger, they sang in the car a lot on trips back and forth to playdates, dance class, and school functions. About a year ago, Jeannie showed her the playlist she had made of music from that time, most of Kim's favorites. She was flattered Jeannie remembered, and the songs now held new meaning for her, as they not only served as reminders of her childhood but Jeannie's as well. She pushed the play button and adjusted the volume, listening to the syncopated piano chords of the opening song. She paced round the back of the sofa, as Carole King's voice wafted softly through the speakers.

_So far away... Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?_

She glanced over at the bookshelves, appearing all the more empty for the few books resting on them -- a row of Andrew's sturdy law books and a couple slim volumes of poetry Shane must have rescued from a dusty box in the attic. Drawn to the flickering fire, she walked to the fireplace, her eyes lighting on the black and white photograph perched on its mantle.

_It doesn't help to know, you're just time away._

She stood on her toes to retrieve the photo, then perused it quietly, taking intermittent sips of wine.

_Long ago, I reached for you and there you stood..._

Shane entered the room and stopped, catching sight of her lost in thought.

_Holding you again could only do me good. How I wish I could..._

Feeling his presence, she looked up at him, their eyes meeting halfway. "It's strange being here again."

He raised his brows in a failed attempt at nonchalance and brought the covered, ceramic dish to the bar, setting it down on the padded pot holders he had used to carry it in with. "Would that be a good strange or a bad strange?" he asked tentatively, avoiding her gaze.

She took a last look at the photograph and placed it back up on the mantle. "A little of both, I think."

He busied himself gathering two bowls from a lower cupboard in the bar and placing them on top of the plates. "That's understandable."

She took a breath, then began delicately, "I remember the dreams we had for this place." She pushed aside a curtain to look out at the garden. "I imagined us spending the rest of our lives here -- raising a family, growing old together, buying matching rocking chairs..." Her voice drifted off, tinged with embarrassment, as she realized too late how much the wine had already loosened her tongue.

He turned to her and eased her discomfort with an equally shy smile. "So did I."

His response made her suddenly brave. "Feels like such a long time ago, doesn't it?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes." His dark eyes sought hers, heavy with the loss of the intervening years. "And yet..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, to tell her how, for him, many things remained unchanged, unwavering despite everything, clearer now than ever before. He couldn't tell her because he felt powerless to do anything about it. Too much time had passed.

"And yet..." she echoed the sentiment.

A hopeful smile lifted his countenance. "So, Ms. Brady, aren't you the least bit curious?" He tapped the arched back of one of the leather bar stools, inviting her to sit.

"I must say, I'm very impressed." She approached him cautiously. "The smoke alarm didn't go off."

He rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

She climbed onto the stool he held ready for her, setting down her glass and sniffing the air lightly. "Smells good." She lifted the cover on the ceramic pot and stole a peek. "What is it?"

"Nothing fancy." He took the cover from her. "A little recipe I picked up in South America."

She watched him dish out the rice and tomato sauce, mixed with vegetables and slivers of meat. "Let me guess," she shot him a sneaky grin. "A Jesuit priest taught you how to make it."

"Actually, it was the abbot."

She held up a hand before he added another spoonful to her bowl. "You're not serious."

He met her mocking gaze and said evenly, "I'm _not_ serious."

She swatted his arm and giggled.

He laughed. "But you deserved it." He ladled another helping into her bowl. "No. One of our agents made it nearly every night for supper during a mission." He filled his bowl and set the crockery aside, climbing onto the stool next to her. "It's called _gizo_." He laid a cloth napkin on his lap. "Near as I can figure, it's just a more exotic-sounding name for Spanish rice." He took a gulp of wine, eyeing her over the brim of his glass as she took a preliminary bite. "Well?"

"It's...h-hot..." She held her mouth open, fanning it with a hand.

His eyes widened with concern and he quickly passed her his wine glass.

She took a hasty drink.

"Hot?" he repeated. "I only added parsley...a-a bay leaf maybe..."

She took another drink and swallowed. "Not spicy hot..." She coughed. "Temperature hot." She reached for a napkin and covered her mouth with it, handing his glass back to him at the same time. Then she looked up at him and burst out laughing. "You should see your face."

"Good God, woman!" he exclaimed. "You would've thought I'd poisoned you!" He set down his glass and continued ranting, "_Hot?_ Of course it's bloody hot. It's _supposed _to be hot! But I thought you'd have the good sense to blow on it or something first." He tossed his napkin on the bar in surrender. "Lord!"

She laughed into her napkin. "I'm kind of a basket case tonight, huh? " Her eyes danced. "First, I spill water everywhere. Now this."

He shook his head at her, absorbing the pleasing sound of her laughter as medicine for his beleaguered mind. "You'd have been wise to reverse the order of things," he said finally, casting her a bemused look. "Douse the fire with some water." A broad smile spread across his face. "What _am _I going to do with you?" He picked up his napkin and threw it playfully at her.

"I don't know, Shane Donovan." She caught it and threw it back. "Make me wash the dishes?"

"Are you kidding?" He chuckled. "After tonight, I'm not letting you anywhere _near_ the dishes!"

"Ah!" She held up an index finger. "So my plan is working."

"It's working, all right." His eyes, still bright with laughter, settled on hers.

She gave him a relaxed smile. "Better than the wine." She lifted her glass expectantly.

He raised his eyebrows approvingly, tapped the edge of her glass with his, and took a long, slow sip.

After a beat, she said quietly, "You almost forgot about it, didn't you?"

He set down his glass and picked up a fork, jabbing at the stew in his bowl.

She watched him closely. "Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, laying his napkin back in his lap. "You know who I'd really like to talk about?" He raised his eyes level with hers. "You."

"Me?" She blinked and leaned back in her chair a bit.

"Yes. You." He gestured to her with his fork, then took a bite.

It was her turn to look down and poke at her food. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything." He drained his glass, then picked up another forkful of food. "Like, how's work going? Your photography? Are you publishing another book anytime soon?" He waved the fork about and tossed off, "Hell, did you go to any Lakers games last season?" _Are you seeing anyone?_ He brushed the thought aside. "I don't know. I've missed... " He furrowed his brow. "Well, I've missed so much."

She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. "And I can fill you in on my life, while conveniently changing the subject." She set down her fork on the edge of the plate. "The perfect distraction."

"Kimberly, you are _not_ a distraction." He put down his fork with a clatter. "Truth is, I'm rather tired of talking about _me_ all the time." He sighed. "There is a world outside the one I've been living in that I still have a vested interest in. Up till now, that world has been closed off to me." He propped his elbows up on the counter, interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin against them. "I'll admit -- I was the one to close myself off, but I genuinely want to know...." He turned his head to her. "That is, if you're willing to tell me."

She thought for a minute, then reached for the wine bottle and held it up to him. He nodded and she refilled his glass. "I don't know where to start."

"Anywhere you like." He put his glass to his lips and took another swallow.

"Well, I don't think I'll go into the research for my latest article or anything." She set the bottle aside carefully. "I've been writing for years, and you know what I've been doing on that front." She picked up her fork. "Or so you've said." She squinted at him. "There _will_ be a quiz, you know."

"Of course there will. Bring it on." He smiled rakishly.

She grinned. "Consider yourself forewarned." She let her smile fade and pushed her food around the bowl. "Maybe..." She watched him take another bite, his eyes fixed on her. "Maybe I should talk about my book."

"I'd like that." Sensing the shyness she'd long held regarding her creative side, and hoping to give her the chance to eat a little as well, he added with a far-off look, "You know, I remember that one Christmas in L.A., when I first saw some of the pictures you'd taken of the coast. I think I told you then: you haven't missed a beat." His eyes twinkled in the low light. "I'm so pleased you're still at it."

Feeling her face grow slightly warm, she tapped her mouth with her napkin. "I'm enjoying it." She loaded her fork once more, noticing her hunger returning. "In fact, I've done more with my photography in the last few years than I ever did before. At first, I was just curious to see if I still had it in me. Then, before I knew it, I was building a small studio at the house."

He smiled wistfully, conjuring an image of her, camera in hand -- an intrepid, modern-day explorer. She had such an eye for beauty, tragedy, quiet, unspoken strength. Qualities he saw in her work that, perhaps not coincidentally, he saw in her, too. Her conscious choice not to resume her photography after regaining her sight hadn't gone unnoticed by him. Despite encouragement from her family and friends, while he and Kimberly were together, she never seemed to want to return to what had once been a real passion of hers. Though he'd guessed at the underlying reasons at the time, he couldn't help but feel responsible, albeit tacitly, for failing to encourage her more. His heart lept at the layers of excitement he heard in her voice now, however.

"Wherever I go now," she continued, "with or without my camera, I'm taking pictures. I frame the images in my head -- color, shadows, textures, angles. I don't know how else to describe how it all came back to me, except that it was almost like..." She paused, considering whether to let the memories from that period enter her conscious thought, and whether or not she felt comfortable sharing them with him after so much time. "It reminded me of how I felt being able to see again for the first time," she revealed softly.

He looked down for a minute to cover his astonishment at having unknowingly intruded on her thoughts. He shifted in his chair and raised his eyes to her again. "So, tell me, what made you decide to publish your work?"

The light in her eyes dimmed as she studied him. She still found it hard to believe he was really there, sitting next to her. His absence from her life had been so palpable that his presence now did little to negate the empty feeling she carried with her, feelings that had spurred her on to finally publish her old photographs -- to, in some way, clear away the clutter of her past, put it to rest -- or try to. She didn't quite know how to explain that to him. "After I started taking pictures again..." she began carefully, "I looked back at some of my earlier work. And you know how you get caught up in reading past journals...or old letters?" She paused a moment, calling to mind a certain box of newly discovered letters. She felt his eyes on her as if he, too, were considering them. "Well, it felt good to sort through them, to revisit that part of my life..." _As I revisited my time with you_, she nearly added. _As I tried to say good-bye_. She eyed him cautiously, feeling as if he could hear her thoughts or read them in her eyes. "Publishing those pictures was my way of laying all that to rest..."

His eyes remained locked with hers as he finished the thought: "Of validating what came before."

She glanced downward, a soft smile flickering over her lips. "You're a quick study."

He let out a wry chuckle. "Well, I'm learning, at any rate." He reached for her hand but thought better of it and stood up slowly, covering the pot with its lid and reaching around her to gather the dishes. "Do you, uh, still show your work at that gallery north of Wilshire?"

"How did you know about that?" She shook her head at him, then promptly nodded. "Oh. Right." She lifted her eyebrows and drained her glass of the few drops it had left. "The usual way."

He pursed his lips and cocked his head to one side, acknowledging his surveillance of her wordlessly.

"But you know..." She wrinkled her brow. "Now that you mention it, I haven't shown any of my work there in quite a while." She shrugged. "I had a little falling out with the owner after he sold one of my most favorite pictures." She turned to him as he swiped at the counter with a napkin. "See, I told him he could use it for display, and _only_ for display, but a man came in, saying his boss would pay any amount of money for it. I mean, I still own the rights to the picture, but it was really important to me..." Her voice trailed off as she noted a wide smile suddenly crossing his face. "What?"

"Nothing." He cradled the stacked plates in the crook of his arm, preparing to take them to the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

She sent him a piercing look. "You didn't."

He leaned towards her. "What if I did?" He straightened and picked up the last of the silverware. "You still take your coffee with two sugars?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. Then he disappeared down the back hallway, leaving her in quiet shock, mentally searching every nook and corner of Donovan Manor, trying to figure out where he had stashed her picture.

* * *

Kimberly stood by the end table holding Jeannie's iPod when Shane returned to the living room, tray in hand. She looked up at him as he set the tray on the low coffee table; then she turned off the music, returning the device to its cradle and taking a seat on the edge of the sofa. He reached for the coffee pot, but she waved him off. "I'll get this." She began pouring out two cups, her eyes on the task before her. "So, where is it?"

He wagged a finger at her. "I knew you couldn't resist asking." He strolled over to the fireplace and picked up the poker, kneeling in front and pulling aside the screen.

She set down the coffee pot and looked at him. "Well, aren't you gonna tell me?"

He turned back to her. "It's in a safe place."

She sighed. "You're going to make me drag everything out of you tonight, aren't you?" She placed her hands on her knees and watched him turn his attention back to the fire.

He pushed the top log further back in the hearth, knowing full well he could no longer avoid having this conversation with her. Truthfully, he had wanted to talk to her about it all evening, but needed the time to gather his thoughts. Perhaps even a few more minutes. "I have a flat no one knows about," he said quietly. "I keep it there."

"Oh." She reached for the sugar and began layering it into her cup, keeping her eyes on him and allowing silence to settle over the room. Sometimes it was best not to say anything at all. She stirred the warm brew, then sat back on the sofa, taking a measured drink.

The brass poker clattered in the rack as he replaced it, then drew the screen back across the opening, watching the freshened embers spark to life again. He stared at the fire a while longer. "I don't..." He shook his head at himself, accepting the fact he may not ever be able to fully organize his thoughts, and plunging ahead anyway. "I don't think Prague was the only time I was taken," he said finally, straightening and rubbing his hands together.

She returned her cup to the coffee table, continuing to study him. "And what makes you think that?"

He glanced back at her uncertainly. "I had this dream."

"Go on."

He turned away from her again and massaged his temple wearily. "It was more like flashes of old memories... A garden party at the Manor when I was young, and my father's confrontation with...this man." He took a deep breath and paced over to the glass doors, folding his arms in front of him. "Then the same man, years later, up in the mountains...with Alfred Jericho." He looked out on the garden for the thousandth time that day. The whole thing had made him extra cautious, as if by drawing nearer to the truth of his past, he was drawing the danger that accompanied it nearer to him. And to her. He looked over at her. "I don't even know if they're real memories or something I made up. So far, Nico and I haven't been able to substantiate any of it or prove this man actually exists..." He let out a frustrated breath. "Anywhere other than in my head, that is."

"How do you know it's the same man?" she asked softly.

He stared at her a moment, then paced over to the bar, running a hand along its edge. "He has this very distinctive voice...a manner of saying things, this Dublin accent. It's the same one I heard when I was cooped up in that cell in Prague for all those months." He turned to her. "Maybe what I'm dreaming about are just residual memories from that time; maybe I inadvertently attached his voice to something more familiar...like my parents...or...or..."

She trained her eyes on his, finding them searching for some sort of sign in hers, but she was unable to give it to him. Instead, she waited, aware of his need to continue to work it out on his own.

"But you know what's always bothered me?" He walked round the set of high-backed, cream-colored chairs, ending up at the fireplace once more. "When Jericho pulled me off that cliff, we fell, what, forty, possibly fifty feet or more? Yet, I didn't have one broken bone." He ran a hand through his hair. "And when I woke up, days later, I was miles from the cliff site, and I don't remember how I even got there." He stepped past her and circled the edge of the sofa. "So what happened in my dream actually makes some sort of sense." He leaned on the sofa table. "More than what I've been led to believe all these years, anyway."

She folded her hands in her lap, eyes forward, then asked gently, "What happened to you in your dream, Shane?"

She could hear his sharp intake of breath. He stood immobile for a few minutes, fixated on the surface of the sofa table as the sights and sounds filled his head again. "I can't..." She felt a jolt behind her as he inadvertently pushed the table forward with the force of lifting his hands hastily from it. "I don't know! It's not... I can't piece it together." He ran a hand over his nose and mouth. "I..."

She turned back to him, draping her arm over the back of the sofa and patting the cushion next to her with the other. "Shane, it's all right. Come. Sit down."

He eyed her warily, then sighed heavily and complied, dropping onto the seat beside her.

"You don't have to remember it all now." She withdrew her hand from the sofa back and shifted her body towards him. "Maybe if you started with the man, if you tried to describe him, I mean, other than the sound of his voice."

Shane leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He shut his eyes and tried to picture him. "He..." Images flashed through his mind for several long minutes. "He..." The voice grew gradually louder, drowning out the images by sheer force till Shane sat up abruptly, snapping his eyes open. "I don't know. I may never know..." He rubbed at his eyes.

Looking at him now, Kimberly found herself wishing she could just smooth it all away: the hurt, the anger, the frustration...everything. She reached over and ran a hand up over his back and down his arm.

He lowered his arms and looked at her, his eyes shimmering as they met her steady, calming gaze.

He watched her interweave her fingers with his and heard her say quietly, "You'll figure it out."

He covered their joined hands with his free hand. "I'm not so sure." He shook his head in resignation. "It's taken me years to get this far, and I'm more confused than ever."

They sat in the stillness that followed, concentrating on the interplay of their fingers together, on the feel of her hand in his, the warmth of his touch as he rubbed his thumb lazily over hers. He inhaled slowly and deeply and lifted his eyes to hers, taking in their color, the way they almost glowed up at him. He then ran his eyes over her delicate skin, her nose, the curve of her mouth, while she followed him, memorizing the look of his eyes reflected in the firelight, his stern jaw, his Roman nose, his lips. She leaned towards him; this time, he followed her, bending his head down to hers, their eyes still searching each others', their bodies drawing closer...till Shane's Blackberry buzzed and whirred, and he stopped, his lips less than an inch from hers, his breath catching in his chest. Their eyes met again and lingered, then he reached down and pulled the phone from his belt and glanced at the screen. "It's Bo," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded and moved slightly back from him, smoothing her hands over her jeans, feeling her heart pounding so fast it might explode.

Shane stood to his feet and put the phone to his ear. "Yes, Bo..." He injected a casual note into his voice. "What's up?" He paced over to the fireplace again.

Kimberly swallowed hard and shifted her weight on the couch to face Shane as he turned back to her.

"What?!" The expression on his face turned to worry. "Is he all right?" He looked at Kimberly briefly, then down at the floor. "Was--was Andrew with him?"

Kim stood and approached Shane, dread rapidly replacing the feelings from moments before.

Shane held up a palm to her, listening intently to Bo's explanation. "Oh, thank God." He furrowed his brow. "And is Jeannie with you?"

Kim gestured to Shane to hand her the phone.

He shook his head lightly. "Okay. Okay." He put a hand on Kim's shoulder to reassure her. "We'll be there soon. Yeah. Thanks." He clicked the phone off and tucked it back in its holster.

"What happened?" Kim asked anxiously.

"David Halpern's been shot."

"Oh, my God..." She covered her mouth. "W-what about Andrew? Jeannie?"

"The children are fine." He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "No one else was hurt." He put his hand on the small of her back and led her to collect their coats. "Let's go. I'll explain more on the way."


	27. Chapter 26

**Titan Shipping Docks, Salem, the same evening**

Shane and Kimberly arrived to find cadres of uniformed policemen swarming the labyrinth of docks assigned to the Kiriakis shipping empire. Overlapping radio chatter cut through the quiet of the foggy night air, only serving to add to the sense of unease that had built up exponentially inside each of them on the hurried drive over.

Kim gripped Shane's hand as he guided her through the throngs of onlookers gathering on the upper tier. "There's Hope," she breathed, relieved at the sight of the young blonde clinging to Hope's arm.

"Mama!" Jeannie broke free from her aunt's protection and ran to her mother, who pulled her into her arms, smoothing a hand over her hair.

"Oh, sweetie." Kim clasped her arms round her tightly. "Are you okay?"

Jeannie nodded, hugging her mother close.

Hope drew up alongside them. "She wasn't here when it happened." She locked eyes briefly with Shane.

Pausing to place a reassuring hand on Jeannie's shoulder, Shane then strode briskly past the women and descended the stairs to the main dock where Bo stood, heavily engaged in a telephone conversation. Making quick work of assessing the situation, Shane took note of what few clues he could find: fresh pockmarks in the wood of the staircase railing, a discarded 9 millimeter clip at the foot of the stairs, (being bagged by one of Bo's men), scuff marks on the worn, wooden planks, a marker where David's body had fallen and since been removed.

He leveled an impatient look at Bo, who motioned to him that he was wrapping up the phone call. Shane bobbed his head in acknowledgment and resumed a hasty survey of the dock, searching the dark recesses between the pillars for what mattered most to him at the moment: a glimpse of his son. Lifting his gaze over a forensics team crouched in a circle near one of the pylons, his eyes finally lighted on their destination: Andrew, seated on a bench, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He looked dejected and cold.

Shane ignored the evidence team and rushed over to his son, stopping just short of reaching out to hug him, shoving his hands in his pockets, instead. "You all right?" He tried not to let his voice betray the true depth of his concern.

Andrew nodded stiffly up at him. "Yeah." He shivered and groped for his cane, standing to his feet just in time to be knocked back a little by his mother, who had pushed anxiously through a line of people to envelop him in her arms.

"Oh, Andrew." Kimberly's eyes glistened with tears. "I was so afraid something might have happened to you." She pulled back from him a moment, holding his face between her hands.

"I know." He hugged her again. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Thank God you're okay." She pulled him closer.

Looking over his mother's shoulder, Andrew studied his father's stern expression for any hint he had pieced together the night's events. He knew he couldn't keep the truth from him for long -- even now the wheels were turning, he could see. Nothing less than the full story would satisfy; he knew that much about his father. Still, he wished to postpone the inevitable as long as humanly possible. He released his mother and turned his attention to Bo, who had rung off the phone, checked in with one of his officers, and was now making a beeline straight for them, determined as ever to get to the bottom of things.

"Uncle Bo..." Andrew stalled as best he could. "H-how's David, uh, Agent Halpern?"

Bo glanced at the officers milling about behind him. "I just heard from a man we have stationed at the hospital." He turned back to Andrew. "They rushed him into surgery, but things are looking good so far."

Andrew heaved an enormous sigh, conscious of his father's eyes upon him.

"He took a bullet to the shoulder," Bo continued. "It just missed a major artery. He was lucky." He eyed Shane. "If all goes well, we should be able to question him in the morning."

Shane nodded and looked away for a moment, pressing his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "So, what happened, Bo?"

Her arm clasped round Jeannie's shoulder, Kimberly turned to her brother, expecting to hear anything but what he then revealed.

"I think maybe..." Bo squinted at his nephew. "That's something Andrew should fill us in on."

"Andrew? What do you mean?" Kimberly blinked. "What does he mean?" She turned to address her son. "I thought you came down here when you heard the shots, like everyone else."

Shane clenched his jaw. Though keeping such thoughts from Kimberly on the way over, he had suspected his son to be more involved than Bo had let on over the phone. Victor's appearance at the house a few days ago took on new meaning for him when he learned the shooting had taken place near Titan's shipyard. He focused in on the dock-boards at his feet, attempting to keep his rising temper in check as the most likely scenario formed in his mind. _Blast!_ It was a maneuver he'd taught Andrew, too.

"So, this is where you went?" Jeannie chimed in, pulling away from her mother. "You told us you were going to the bathroom, and you snuck out of the pub and came down here?" She stepped up to Andrew. "Are you crazy? Look what you got caught in the middle of. You might as well have held up a sign saying: _Victim here. Shoot me now_." She ran a hand across her forehead to illustrate.

"Jeannie..." Kim reached for her.

"But Mama, he's..." She tried to shrug her off.

"She shouldn't be here," muttered Andrew.

Kimberly bristled. "And she _wouldn't be,_ if you hadn't come down here looking for trouble!"

Shane placed a steadying hand on Kim's shoulder just as Hope walked up and handed a note to Bo. Bo glanced at it, then passed it to Shane, who perused it quickly then turned to his daughter. "Jeannie, I think you should take a walk with your aunt."

"Would you mind, Hope?" Kimberly asked, picking up on Shane's tone.

"Not at all." Hope smiled sweetly and squeezed Jeannie's shoulders. "Come on."

"But..." Jeannie began, the look on her father's face silencing her protest. "I'm gonna find out what happened sooner or later," she uttered with fading conviction as Hope led her away. She hated being left out of the loop, but she also knew when to leave well enough alone.

Reading the ominous glint in Shane's eyes, Bo added, "Kimber, maybe you should go, too." The minute the words left his mouth, he regretted having said them.

"You know me better than that, little brother." She whipped round to include Shane in her comments. "You _both_ do." She snatched the note from Shane's hand and read it. "All this says is that Philip Kiriakis is here." She glanced up at her brother, then knit her brows together pensively. "That's strange. I would've thought Victor would want to come down here in person. This is exactly the kind of thing he'd relish..."

Shane watched her put the pieces together.

"Unless..." she began.

"He's conveniently absent," Bo finished with a knowing shake of his head.

Kim turned to Andrew, who had managed to keep a safe distance from them, avoiding their piercing looks -- until now. "What did you do?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

Andrew could barely look at her.

"Chief," a man from the forensics team called out. "Come take a look at this."

Bo excused himself and headed over for a quick word with his team, leaving room for Shane to take the lead in questioning Andrew; though, he feared he'd find it difficult, if not impossible, to control his burgeoning anger. He glanced over at Kimberly, then took a large breath, skipping past the preliminaries. "Who did you come here to meet, son?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The force of his gaze caused Andrew to look away. "I made an arrangement --"

"With Victor," Kimberly deduced, fully aware of her son's obstinance but finding it hard to believe. "Why?" she wondered aloud. "What could you _possibly_ want from a man like Victor?" Her eyes darted from Andrew to Shane. She recalled Shane's warning about everything being connected. _"We have to be very careful,"_ he'd said. But neither of them had anticipated their usually cautious son taking matters into his own hands in such a careless manner.

"Mr. Kiriakis, he, um..." Andrew continued reluctantly, "He gave me information on the whereabouts of someone." He cleared his throat. "He told me where I could find..."

"Winters!" Shane hissed, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "You came here to confront Winters, didn't you?"

Andrew nodded.

Kim turned to him in shock, watching helplessly as the inevitable played out before her.

"I knew it." Shane began pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. "You arrogant, reckless..._stupid_...boy!"

Reacting to his father's patronizing tone, Andrew shouted: "Well, I had to do something! Who knows when the ISA would finally get around to catching him? I couldn't just sit here and let him get away with everything!"

Shane stopped in his tracks. "We talked about that, remember?" He tried to keep his voice even. "About following the system, not going outside the law -- "

"The law?!" Andrew sneered. "Oh, I know all about the law when it comes to that man! This is the same _law_ that allowed him to escape from prison, not once, but twice!" He glared at his father. "You didn't think I remembered the first time, did you?"

Shane exchanged a quiet look with Kimberly.

"_The law_ failed to contain him then, and you failed to contain him this time, too." Andrew raised the timbre of his voice. "So I decided to go after him on _my_ terms, in _my own_ way!"

Kimberly watched Shane visibly restrain himself. She searched for something to say to defuse the situation, but the words wouldn't come. She looked over at Bo, trying to gain his attention.

"So, tell me, Andrew." Shane's voice dropped dangerously low. "What did that get you? Hmm? What did that get David?"

"I didn't ask David to come down here," Andrew explained gruffly. "He just showed up. It wasn't part of the plan."

Shane lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, and you had it all worked out, didn't you? The perfect, bloody plan." He pursed his lips. "You thought you'd just lure Winters up here from Victor's shipyards in Baltimore..."

"Y-you knew where he was?" Andrew's responded, incredulously.

Shane nodded. "The operative I hired located him last week." He rubbed his hands together. "My men were set to swoop in and capture him, but someone warned him off. Someone with _a plan_." He fixed his eyes sharply on his son. "Someone...with an ill-timed, thoughtless, idiotic, suicidal, half-baked plan!" Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Andrew's collar with both hands and pushed him up against a pillar. Andrew's cane clattered to the ground. "Do you have_ any _idea what almost happened here tonight?! You nearly got yourself killed!"

"Shane, don't!" Kim rushed towards them. "Stop it!"

"And for what?!" Shane clenched his teeth as he shoved Andrew hard into the petrified wood. "So you could prove a point? Well, it didn't work, did it? Did it?!" His voice shook with emotion. "We almost lost you!" He inhaled sharply. "After all I..."

"Stop it!" Kim reached for Shane's arm. "Shane, please... Stop it!"

Alerted by the sound of his sister's raised voice, Bo darted through a gaggle of officers towards Shane, clasping him firmly by the shoulders and wrenching him backwards. "Shane! Come on, man. Let go. Step back. Step back!"

Shane released Andrew's collar and turned away abruptly. Breathing heavily, he bent at the waist, resting his hands on his knees as he took the necessary time to collect himself.

Shocked into an uneasy quiet, Andrew smoothed out his coat and reached down for his cane. He brushed off his mother's attempts to comfort him. "Mama, I'm fine. I'm okay," he assured her. "He's right," he added shakily. "I screwed up."

Bo put a hand on Shane's back. "You all right there, gov'nor?"

"Yeah." Shane sniffed and straightened to his full height, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Thanks, Bo."

"No problem," Bo returned.

In the ensuing calm, Shane lifted his gaze to meet Kimberly's concerned stare. He sighed and shook his head, trying to convey the sincerest of apologies without really knowing how. Then he turned back to Bo, attempting to shake off what had happened and confront the more immediate issues. "So, Bo, what did they find out?"

Bo tossed him a clear plastic bag with three bullet casings inside. "They're from a .38. David used a Glock 17; evidence suggests Winters did, too. We'll know for sure when David gets out of surgery."

Shane examined the casings carefully. He let out an angry snort and peered at Andrew. "Where's the gun?"

Andrew swallowed. "I threw it in the river," he replied.

Shane nodded, then motioned hastily to an officer and imparted the information to her.

"You had a _gun_?!" Kimberly's eyes widened. "When did you buy a gun?" She covered her face with her hands a moment and walked away from him. "I can't believe this is happening." She continued on past Shane and Bo, heading closer to the dock's edge and the serenity of the darkened river stretched out before them.

Shane's eyes followed her, then he turned to address Andrew. He held up the evidence bag. "So, you fired the gun..." he began.

Andrew's heart pounded hard in his chest. He knew what they were thinking. "I didn't shoot David. Not even by accident. I _swear_ I didn't."

Shane eyed him closely. "Okay." He accepted him at his word, but the time for avoidance had definitely expired. "Then what _did_ happen?"

"I--I don't know. It was so quick, I..." Andrew shrugged. "I expected Cal to be on the main dock when I got here, but he wasn't. So I came down here..." He looked at Bo and recounted, "I stood right where I am now, waiting for him..." He glanced at Shane. "Waiting for the second man to show up, but he never did." He hesitated. "Then I heard footsteps on the upper deck. And Cal he -- he said my name. I froze."

"Who was the distraction -- the second man?" Shane asked quietly.

Andrew shrugged. "Some guy I paid at the pub to show up at a designated time and knock over some garbage cans."

Bo glanced at Shane. "What did he look like?"

"Uh, short, dark hair. Young. Blue varsity jacket."

Bo gestured to a nearby officer who took down the information and left them to follow up.

"He -- he never showed," Andrew continued, leaning heavily on his cane. "Then David appeared...from over there." He pointed straight towards the river at a second set of docks, jutting further out into the water. "He shouted for me to get down, so I dove behind a pillar. Then I heard gunshots. I leaned out to see what was going on and...and David was just lying there." He inhaled sharply. "I saw Cal coming down the stairs, so I turned and fired at him. Or I fired at the stairs, I don't remember." He ran a hand over his eyes. "But I must've missed because he took off. That way, I think." He pointed up the boardwalk, away from the shops and restaurants.

Following the direction with his eyes, Bo scribbled something on a notepad. "Good. That's very helpful." He turned to a second officer, chatting with him in lowered tones.

"I couldn't have hit him if he was able to run away, right?" Andrew repeated to himself, bleakly. He slumped back down onto the bench and leaned forward a little, kicking at a loose deck board with his right foot.

Shane pointed at the stairs. "You might recover more bullets embedded in that railing," he offered. He furrowed his brow as he studied his son a while. Then he took Bo aside. "Uh, listen, Bo..." He lowered his voice. "My men should be here shortly. Do you think you could make sure Kimberly and the children get home safely?"

"Of course," Bo returned easily. Then he stopped writing. "Wait. You're not thinking about going after Winters, are you?" When he didn't receive an immediate response, he tightened his jaw and poked his pen at him. "Because I can have you arrested for interfering with a police investigation. And don't think I won't." He glanced over at Kimberly, who caught his eye and began walking slowly back to them.

"I don't doubt it, my friend," Shane conceded. "I don't doubt it. No, I..." He followed Bo's line of sight. "I have more important matters to consider at the moment," he said seriously. "Providing for my family's safety, for one." He turned back to him. "As well as enlisting the ISA's help with the Salem PD's investigation. Fair enough?"

Bo nodded and resumed writing. "Fair enough."

Shane patted Bo's arm. "We'll touch base in the morning."

Kim folded her arms in front of her and stepped up to them. "Are we leaving now?"

"Actually... " Shane took her arm gently by the elbow. "I'd like you and the children to wait for Wilson and the other guards. They'll take you home."

"Why?" Kimberly looked around, then eyed him suspiciously. "Where are you going?"

"I just have some things I need to take care of," he returned calmly.

"_Shane..."_ Her voice carried a similar warning to her brother's from moments before.

He smiled despite himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "I can assure you I have no intention of chasing after any suspects in the dark of night, okay? You can verify that with your brother, if you need to."

"Okay." She took a wary breath, unconvinced he wasn't planning something, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

"I'll meet up with you at home as soon as I can."

"Shane..." Her eyes flitted over to Andrew. "What about...?"

He followed her gaze, then turned back to her, tugging at his earlobe a minute. "I'll try to talk to him later."

"He gave us quite a scare, didn't he?"

"He certainly did." Shane's eyes clouded over as he took on the full weight of responsibility, not only for his own actions, but for Andrew's. "I'd better go." Still buried in his thoughts, he made motions to walk away, then stopped himself. "Kimberly..."

"Yes?"

He stood inches away from her, so only she could hear. "I'm sorry."

She instantly knew what he was referring to. She had seen the apology reflected in his eyes earlier and accepted it then, but the image of him shoving Andrew against the dock was difficult to banish entirely. "I know." She reached out and lightly touched his arm.

He covered her hand briefly with his before breaking away and making his way through the thinning crowd of officers. He pulled out his cell phone and began to climb the stairs.

"Commander Donovan." A young, sandy-haired man passed him on his way down to the main dock.*

Shane turned.

The man stopped and offered a hand. "Philip Kiriakis." His deep blue eyes burrowed into Shane's.

"Ah, yes." Shane clasped the hand, returning the unwavering stare. "Philip. It's a pleasure to see you again..._face to face_."

"Same here," he responded warmly, the irony of Shane's choice of words hitting their intended mark. He'd been uncertain whether Donovan would recognize him or not -- or who he had looked like when they'd first met. The ISA had lent each of them many lives through the years, but none to keep. "I came down here to see if I could be of any assistance..." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his impeccably tailored navy coat.

"I'm sure the police will appreciate it." Shane nodded in Bo's direction. "Bo's expecting you." He peaked at the Blackberry in his hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in a bit of a hurry..."

"I wouldn't want to keep you, Commander, but I think there's something you should know."

Shane studied the cocky young man before him.

"If you're on your way to see my father, he's not at home. He's been out of town all week." He made a point of listing the specifics in a slightly amplified voice. "Geneva. Meeting with investors. You know how it is." He flashed a dimpled smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yes. Well, be sure to tell him I'll be stopping by later in the week, then." Shane looked around briefly before adding, "Thank you for the information."

"Don't mention it," he tossed off. "It was good seeing you."

"And you," Shane responded amiably, resuming his trek up the stairs and pushing a button on his cell phone. He put it to his ear. "Hello, Jason? Donovan here." He put a finger in his other ear to drown out the ambient noise. "Put Mitchell on. Priority Level 4." He headed swiftly for his car.

* * *

Philip looked down and smiled to himself, then continued down the stairs at a fair clip. The new prosthetic leg he'd been outfitted with recently was proving even better than the last one. He was pleased at how quickly he could get around with it. To an outside observer, it was almost as if he'd never lost his lower leg to that landmine -- and nearly his whole identity in the explosion. His service in the Middle East was long behind him now. _All my battle scars have healed, _he told himself. At least the ones that could readily be seen.

"Oh!"

He jumped at the sound of a young woman's voice, nearly crashing into the beautiful blonde who had strayed in front of him.

They stepped back from each other in unison as the cardboard coffee cup she held tumbled to the ground.

"Jeez, I'm sorry." He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't seen her coming. He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, brushing at the front of her leather jacket lightly. "It's _my_ fault. I wasn't looking." Slightly embarrassed, he handed the handkerchief to her to finish the job. "Are you okay?"

Jeannie continued swiping at the front of her coat, grateful she had decided against the suede. Then she looked up at the man standing before her. For someone so young, he had a decided air of authority about him. His chiseled jaw was set in a firm line, but his eyes seemed kind. She smiled. "I'm fine. Matter of fact, you saved me from breaking my diet with that over-sized mocha java."

He returned her smile readily. "If you don't mind my saying, you don't look like you have anything to worry about." His eyes swept over her trim figure.

She cleared her throat. "Uh, thank you. But that's kind of the whole point, isn't it?" she teased.

He chuckled. "Yes. I guess it is."

"Oh. Here." She held out his handkerchief to him.

He took it from her and tucked it back inside his breast pocket.

"I see you've met your uncle Bo's half-brother." Hope stepped up behind Jeannie and took a sip from her own over-sized coffee cup.

They gaped at her.

Jeannie raised an eyebrow. "Brother?"

"Uncle?" Philip questioned.

"Speaking of which..." Hope added as Bo walked over to them and handed Hope his notebook for safe-keeping. She tilted her head towards him. "I saw Shane leave. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Fancy Face." He tried to keep his tone light around Jeannie. "We just have to wrap up some things here. Then we'll call it a night and everyone can head home." He turned to Philip. "Thanks for coming down. I only have a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." Philip glanced at Jeannie. "It was nice...bumping into you. Again, sorry about the coffee."

She shrugged and smiled.

He smiled back. "I'll see you around."

"See you."

He then followed Bo to the far end of the dock.

Noting the interplay of glances between the two, Hope couldn't resist asking: "So, what did you think of him?"

"We didn't really have a chance to talk," Jeannie returned nonchalantly. She watched them move further away. "He's Uncle Bo's half-brother, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," Hope responded dryly. "Philip Kiriakis. He and his father run Titan." She gestured around her with her coffee cup. "They own everything you see here."

"So he's a Kiriakis."

Hope wrinkled her brow, slightly perplexed. "And he usually goes out of his way to let everyone know it, too."

Casting a last look in his direction, Jeannie bent down, retrieved the empty coffee cup, and tossed it into a nearby trash can before she and Hope went to rejoin Kimberly and Andrew.

Having ventured a marked distance away, Philip allowed his gaze to drift back to Jeannie. "Just out of curiosity, Bo, who was that girl standing there with Hope?"

"Oh. That's my niece Jeannie. Kimberly's daughter."

Philip lifted his eyebrows. "Commander Donovan's daughter?"

"Yep." Bo leveled stern eyes upon him. "And you would do well to remember that little fact," he warned.

* * *

**Penthouse of Marlena Evans-Black**

Dressed casually, in a fluffy ivory sweater and jeans, Marlena pulled open the heavy front door to find Shane huddled in the hallway.

"Marlena, hi." He blew into his hands. The night was getting colder. "I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour, but..."

"Shane." Roman's booming voice echoed back. "Abe just called and filled me in on what happened." He grabbed his leather bomber jacket from the back of the couch. "He said David's been shot. I was just heading down to the waterfront to give you and Bo a hand." He pulled on his jacket.

"Come on in, Shane." Marlena gestured widely with an arm.

"Thank you, Marlena."

She took note of his unusually subdued mood, given the night's flurry of events.

"Is David all right?" Roman asked, walking over to Shane. "Andrew wasn't with him, was he?"

"Actually, Roman..." Shane took a deep breath. "Remember our conversation earlier today, when I told you that I thought someone tipped off Winters?"

"Yeah. You said your guy had found him in Baltimore, but he took off before..." Roman thought a minute. "Winters was _here_? _He_ shot David?"

Shane nodded.

"Was he gunning for Andrew?" Roman narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute. You don't think Kiriakis arranged for..."

"It's worse than that, I'm afraid." Shane faced Roman squarely. "Andrew lured him up here, with Victor's help."

"Holy Moses! What's he trying to do, get himself killed?"

"That's precisely what I wanted to know."

Marlena watched Shane tense up, guessing there was more to the story and sensing the real reason he had suddenly dropped by.

Shane cocked his head to one side. "But it seems Andrew thought he could have a go at him, make it look like self-defense." He heaved another long sigh and meandered past Marlena toward the row of wide picture windows. "David got there just in time."

"Did he get Winters?"

"No." With his back to them, Shane examined the fabric on a nearby wing-back chair.

"Whew!" Roman ran a hand briskly through his hair. "Is Andrew okay?"

"For now," Shane returned.

After exchanging a careful look with Marlena, who was far more sensitive than he could ever be, Roman censored the first thought that had popped into his head: namely, what the hell Shane had done to cause Andrew to want to go balls-out with Winters all on his own. He shook his head, dismissing the thought and replacing it with: "Is there anything I can do?"

Shane turned back to him. "I'd really appreciate it if you could take the lead on the search for Winters. I've notified Mitchell at the ISA, but I need someone to coordinate with Bo, pool all our resources, that sort of thing. Will you do it?"

"Of course. Sure. Don't worry about it." He studied Shane for a minute. "What about Victor? I'm assuming you have plans to...uh, follow up."

Shane gritted his teeth. "Yes." He traced the sculpted edge of the chair with a hand. "He's conveniently out of town at the moment. But I have a man on the inside I can call upon."

Roman decided to let that go for the time being. He knew Shane would let him in on the details if and when he needed to. He headed over to Marlena and ran a hand gently over her shoulders. "Thanks for dinner, doc."

She reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I had a good time."

He leaned in to her. "You sound surprised."

She gave him a relaxed smile. "Pleasantly." She squeezed his hand. "Be careful."

"Always. I'll call you tomorrow," he whispered. Then he released her hand and reached for the doorknob. "I'll let you know what I find out, okay, Shane?"

"Yeah. Thanks again, Roman."

He nodded at Shane and quietly exited.

Marlena closed the door behind him and turned, folding her arms in front of her. "So, what do you need from me?"

Shane glanced at her, then looked down. "Next week isn't soon enough. I'll need you to get me in to see that specialist you mentioned as soon as possible."

"I see. Why the urgency? Do you think your memory has some bearing on what happened with Andrew tonight?"

"No. _Tonight_ I could have prevented." He turned to the window. "But I need to get a handle on things before they spin any further out of control."

"From what I've heard, I don't see how you could have possibly controlled any of tonight's events. Andrew made the decision on his own -- "

Shane held up a hand to silence her. "I could've told him about Victor, warned him about him, so he would never have gone to him for information. I could've checked in with Andrew while we were in London to make sure he was okay." He pounded the back of the chair. "I could've been there for him all these years, instead of chasing after what's left of my grandfather's organization in a vain attempt to..."

"In an attempt to protect him, Shane. I doubt even Andrew could deny that."

"A fat lot of good that's done him!" He gripped the chair tightly as if anchoring himself to it. "You want to know what I did when I found out what he'd done tonight? I attacked him. I grabbed him by the throat and nearly choked him. I was so..."

Marlena walked over to him. "Afraid?"

"Angry," he insisted. "If it hadn't been for Kimberly, and then Bo...I don't know what I would've done."

"How long have you been afraid, Shane?"

He looked away.

"That long, huh?"

He inhaled sharply as the image of his mother pulling him across the patio flashed through his mind again. She was pulling him away from those men, away from _that man_, away from the truth. "Listen, I need to know everything." He met her eyes gravely. "Before I drag Kimberly and the children any further into this, before something else happens."

"Something out of your control."

* * *

**Inside a darkened black Escalade, en route to the Donovan House  
**

Despite having aired her concerns quite forcefully with Andrew while they were still waiting on the dock for Wilson to pick them up and take them home, Kimberly could feel the tension emanating from the backseat where Andrew sat sullenly staring out the tinted window. She didn't know what else to say to him. He had gotten used to trying to take care of her over the years, trying to step in and be the man of the house. But this time, he was in too deep, and she didn't know how to convince him of that. She glanced over at Jeannie, who had fallen asleep, her head resting against the door. Then she turned to face front, offering Wilson a brief smile.

"We're almost there, ma'am."

She nodded, leaned back against the head rest, and closed her eyes.

"Mama?"

She heard Andrew's quiet voice laced with uncertainty...or something else she couldn't quite identify. Her eyes fluttered open.

"How well do you know Victor Kiriakis?" he asked.

It occurred to her now that she'd been so worried about what Andrew wanted from Victor that she hadn't yet thought about what Victor wanted from him. And she didn't need to be reminded that, with Victor Kiriakis, there was always an ulterior motive. She now feared she knew exactly what it was. She twisted round to look at Andrew. "What did he tell you?"

* * *

* shoutout to Ms. Days for lending me the idea of introducing Philip Kiriakis into the story. Thanks. :)

* * *


	28. Chapter 27

_He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself." ~ __Pride and Prejudice__, chapter 52._

**Donovan House, later that evening**

After carefully reviewing the security perimeter with Wilson, Shane bade him good night and stepped over the threshold to the house, shutting the front door quietly behind him. Shrugging off the cold and his grey wool coat with it, he paused, catching snippets of an ongoing argument from behind the half-closed doors of the living room.

"So, I'm right then?" Andrew said breathlessly. "You and _Victor Kiriakis_?!"

"Andrew, if you'll let me explain --" Kimberly rushed to clarify.

"That's what he meant when he said you two were _friends,"_ Andrew continued unabated_._ "You were more than friends." He scoffed. "I mean, I know he has a history with Grandma..." He pointed at her. "But you? I can't believe this!" He paced behind the sofa and leaned on the table, staring at his hands a minute, as his mind played the unholy trick of recalling precisely what Victor had said to him a week ago, word for word.

"It wasn't like that," Kimberly struggled on. "You -- your father was investigating him for the ISA. I was -- "

"He called me _family_." Andrew lifted his head suddenly. "Am I...?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

Kimberly shook her head wearily, bearing the brunt of his disapproving stare.

"I'm not...Victor's not..." he stammered, his breath coming quickly. "He's not my _father_, is he?"

"No!" She fought to keep her voice steady. "No, Andrew. He's not."

Shane dropped his coat and keys hurriedly on a table and headed for the living room.

"But _he_ said..." Andrew wrinkled his brow, then his eyes grew wide as the pieces clicked together to form the whole. "Oh, that is rich!" He threw up his hands. "It's like a pattern with you, isn't it?"

"That is enough!" Shane marched into the room, his dark eyes glowing with fury. "Apologize to your mother right now!"

"Or what?" Andrew challenged.

Shane took a controlled breath. "You're angry with me. Do _not_ take it out on her." He glanced worriedly at Kimberly, then back at his son. "She is your mother. And, as you are so quick to remind me, she raised you with little to no help from me. You will show her the respect she deserves. Do you understand me?!" He jabbed a finger at him, his voice deepening. "Now, apologize."

Andrew swallowed hard. Even with their earlier confrontation fresh in his mind, he had never seen his father this angry. _And rightly so_, he admitted. He looked over at his mother, forcing himself to face the unmitigated pain in her eyes. "Mama, I..." He bit his lip, gulping back tears that threatened to surface. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. Any of that."

Kimberly drew a shaky breath and nodded to him, unable to speak.

Shane took a cautious step towards her. "Are you all right?" He reached out to touch her arm.

Instinctively, she pulled away, her eyes flitting up to his, over to Andrew, then down to the floor. "I, um..." She wrung her hands nervously. "I'm fine." She licked her lips. "I think I'll leave you two alone..."

Shane stared at her, his eyes tinged with deepening concern. "Kim..."

She swallowed and looked up at him, her voice level. "It's probably best, you know? You need to talk."

She was right, as usual, but he couldn't dismiss the wounded look in her eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" he repeated, tracking her movements as she brushed past him and headed for the foyer.

She grabbed her coat and squared her shoulders. "I'm okay." She folded her coat over one arm, then checked on her son. Reading the guilt etched on his face, she moved hastily over to him and gave him a gentle hug. "Don't worry about it, honey." She drew back and touched his cheek lightly, then pulled on her coat. "I'll be back in a little while." She cast Shane a distracted look, then hurried through the foyer and out the front door. It slammed shut behind her.

Shane took a few determined steps in her direction, intent on following her, but the feeling of Andrew's eyes heavy upon him forced him to stop. He planted his feet firmly on the floor and stood rooted to the spot for several minutes, taking calming breaths to rein in his emotions. Then he set his jaw, turning to address Andrew's anxious expression.

"She's not okay, is she?" Andrew asked, hesitant to hear the answer.

Shane looked down. "No. She isn't." He rubbed the base of his neck in frustration. "Did you really expect her to be?"

A leaden silence lingered in the air a while then broke apart with the loud crack of Andrew's fist pounding the table. "What the hell's wrong with me?! Why did I do that to her? I badgered her to tell me about something that -- It's none of my business."

"Andrew, stop." Shane met his son's eyes unwaveringly. "You didn't know," he assured him patiently.

"That's no excuse!" Andrew countered. "I accused her of doing God-knows-what, and I didn't even give her a chance to explain." He waved his arms about in exasperation. "I can't believe I did that." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was an insensitive, impertinent...ass!"

"Yes, you were," Shane underlined, keenly aware of his own faults glaring back at him through his son. "And you should take proper responsibility for that," he instructed. "But as for the rest..." He shrugged his shoulders despairingly, making his way slowly across the room to peek out the latticed glass doors at the garden and the guards surrounding the house.

"The rest?" Andrew picked up his cane, limped past the fireplace and stopped. "Nearly everything I know about you and Mama and your past I've managed to overhear or piece together from a trail of breadcrumbs. When are you ever going to level with me?"

The edge to his voice drew Shane's attention back inside. "I'll tell you everything. I will." He stole a glimpse outside once more. "But I need to take care of something first." He turned away and reached for a hand radio from a bank of them set up on the bar.

Andrew shook his head. He watched Shane tune the radio dial. It seemed plain to him his father was putting him off, simply ignoring him. "Or maybe I'm not that important to you," he added bitterly.

Shane whipped around. "Not that important?" The words tumbled out of him unchecked. "How can you say that? I have spent the last several years of my life focused solely on you, on keeping you safe. You have no idea what I've been through. You are the _most important_..." He looked away and bit down hard. _First things first_, he reminded himself. "Just give me a minute, will you?"

Andrew stepped back, unfamiliar with the obvious strain he heard in his father's voice. He glanced at the hand radio, then followed Shane's gaze out the French doors towards the lamp-lit gardens.

"Wilson, you there?" Shane drew back the curtain on the glass door.

The radio static cleared as the guard sent confirmation.

"Mrs. Don -- er, Ms. Brady," Shane hastily corrected himself, "has gone for a walk. She appears to be headed for the dock."

"We've got her, sir," came the clipped reply.

"Good. Don't let her out of your sight." He stood staring out the window a moment longer, then let the curtain fall back into place before turning to replace the radio. He cleared his throat. "I've doubled security around the house and widened the perimeter," he informed Andrew. "There's an additional patrol on the lake as well." He turned to face him with a sigh of resignation. "I had hoped to keep everyone inside tonight, but..." His eyes drifted towards the entranceway. "Where's your sister?"

"She's upstairs in her room. I think she's asleep."

Shane lifted his eyebrows. "She must have been exhausted to sleep through all the shouting going on down here..." He traipsed behind the bar and poured himself a sliver of scotch, downing it in one swift gulp.

"Yeah." Andrew eagerly picked up on the new, conversational tone. "Jeannie could sleep through an earthquake. She actually did once." He fidgeted with the handle of his cane. "Do you think there'll be any more shouting, or are we good for the night?"

Shane looked over at him, studying him closely. "Would you like one?" He lifted the bottle of scotch. "You look like you could use it."

Andrew nodded, making his way over and cautiously positioning himself on a bar stool. Shane poured a splash of liquor into a second tumbler, then refilled his own glass and took another swig.

Andrew grimaced as the burning liquid slid down his throat. Dutch courage, he supposed. Enough to get him through the next question. "So, do we have anything on Cal?"

"Not yet." Shane leaned on the bar. "I've asked your uncle Roman to follow up. I'll let you know what he finds out."

Unable to conceal his surprise, Andrew responded a little too quickly, "You're not going after him yourself?"

"I have other priorities." Shane took his glass to the sofa and sat down.

"Like what?" Andrew swiveled round in the chair. "Besides the fact that he attacked me, we now know he's connected to Kiriakis. And he and Uncle Drew both had help getting out of prison in January. Most likely, they're connected, too. Get Cal, and we get to the root of the problem, right?"

"Look who has all the answers. For the second time tonight." Shane winced at the sound of his own voice. He looked over at his son sheepishly. "I'm sorry." He set his glass on the coffee table. "I shouldn't have said that."

Andrew shrugged. "No, I get it. I was in over my head. I didn't know what I was doing." He trained his eyes on Shane. "I only meant to injure him, you know. Then I would have called Uncle Bo to arrest him and --."

"I know." He clicked his tongue. "I'm familiar with the plan."

They exchanged a knowing half-smile at the memory of the strategy session that afternoon in Hampshire. It seemed a lifetime ago; it was a lifetime ago. The smile faded from Shane's lips. "Even setting aside the events of tonight, Andrew. I..." He rested his elbows on his knees. "I'd just hate to see you make the same mistake I made: being so consumed with getting the man who did this to you that you gloss over everything -- and everyone -- else. And lose all perspective." He folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. "No matter how hard you try to prevent it, someone always gets caught in the crossfire."

"Is that what happened to Mama?" He watched his father struggle with the answer.

"Yes," he admitted finally, standing rapidly to his feet and turning to stare at the cold, ashen fireplace. He crossed his arms in front of him. "I didn't see it coming. And I should have." He glanced at Andrew. "I was the one who knew what Victor was capable of, but I was convinced I could handle him. The agency was dead-set on nailing him, and, by God, I was the one to do it for them."

Andrew listened to his father's self-recriminations and a new image of him began to form in his mind -- one not entirely unwelcome. He was beginning to sound more and more real, flawed like everyone else, almost human. "So, how did Mama get involved?" he asked quietly.

Shane shook his head admiringly. "She's a natural spy, your mother is. She's better than most field agents I know. She's so smart, yet unassuming, above suspicion in every way." Momentarily distracted by the thought of her, he walked to the patio door, hoping to catch a glimpse. But she was down by the lake, out of range. "Anyway, she knew there was something between Victor and her family, but we didn't know what at the time, and Victor had taken an avid interest in her..." He swallowed hard, before continuing, "So we used that to our advantage. That is, until he found out she'd been lying to him, and he turned on her."

Andrew climbed down from the bar stool. "Wait a minute. He didn't..." He bristled. "Kiriakis didn't _force her_, did he?" He grasped the back of the chair before him with white-knuckled rage. "I'll kill him!" he spat out.

Shane held up a hand to quiet him. "No, he didn't...force her." He balled his hand into a tight fist. "But he may as well have."

"I don't understand."

God, how he hated going back there, even in his mind's eye. "I was very close to gathering the last piece of evidence we needed. I asked your mother to distract him while I looked for it. Victor discovered what I was up to. He had me cornered, and she overheard his plans to kill me. So she..."

"She..." _distracted him_. He couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud, either. He let the silence absorb the blow, but he could see his father take on the burden of it willingly.

Shane paced back over to the fireplace and faced Andrew squarely. "Now, I want you to listen very carefully to what I have to say, Andrew, because it's important."

Andrew could sense an immediate change in his father's demeanor. And, though he didn't know it now, the words that followed would stay with him throughout the night and well into the weeks ahead.

"None of this is her fault." Shane tried to keep his voice even, as just revisiting all this was tearing his usual calm reserve completely asunder. "Do you understand? None of it. If she had known the kind of man she was really dealing with..." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "If I had allowed myself to face up to my limitations...If I hadn't been so goddamn sure that I was better than he was, more in control, I would have never allowed her to go anywhere near him. The man's a predator. And I guess you could say she was in over her head." He looked down a minute. "We both were."

Andrew stared at him, stunned at his candid admission. He opened his mouth to respond, but found no words. Nothing was as simple as he once thought it was.

Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets and sat on the arm of the chair Andrew had attached himself to. "And now that you know..." He searched Andrew's face. "I want you to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Your mother. I wasn't able to protect her then, but I'm asking you...I need you to help me protect her now. Living with the repercussions of this has been extremely difficult for her." He paused, the expression on her face fresh in his mind. "I think you saw that."

Andrew nodded, berating himself again for dredging all this up. _No, actually_, he corrected himself, _Victor did that for me_. _And I was an easy mark. _"I won't bring it up again, except to apologize for what I said to her," he assured him. "And I won't tell anyone what you told me, either. For _her_ sake," he stressed.

"Thank you." Shane stood to his feet and started to walk away, then hesitated. "Now, about tonight."

Andrew searched for the right response, but Shane interrupted his train of thought.

"I want you to know that I understand why you did what you did," he continued, "Why you sought Victor's help and not mine, why you're so angry with me." He turned back to him. "You want to punish me for not being there for you, and your mother and sister. And you're right. I deserve it." He lowered his eyes to the floor. "And I can take it -- all your disappointment, your anger, even your hatred..."

Andrew started to protest. "I don't -- "

"You don't have to deny it. I can see it in your eyes. And you have every right to feel that way." In fact, Shane was still having trouble seeing beyond the bewildered look in Andrew's eyes earlier when he had grabbed him and pushed him against the pillar. The reverberations from that single incident threatened to stay with Shane for a long time. He could let what Marlena said to him sink in only so far. "But don't put your mother in the middle again. She's been hurt enough already." He turned away swiftly and started for the foyer.

Andrew picked up his cane and followed after him, trying to close the distance between them. "Dad..."

Hearing the word uttered without contempt made Shane stop in his tracks a moment. He cleared his throat softly. "I'm gonna go check on her." He reached for his coat, then turned back a moment. "Stay inside and look after your sister, all right?"

Andrew nodded gravely. "I will."

Shane pulled on his coat and promptly exited the house.

Lumbering up to the narrow pane of glass framing the door, Andrew peered through it, tears now blurring his vision. "I don't hate you," he admitted as he watched his father disappear into the remains of the night. "I could never hate you."

* * *

**Late evening, the edge of a quiet dock by the lake**

Shane pulled his coat collar up around his chin and blew into his hands, rubbing them together as he surveyed the shadows of the men he had stationed around the house. He then made the short trip down the sloping hill to the water's edge, his eyes piercing the now shifting grey mist to identify darkened, amorphic trees lining the opposite shore. Lights from distant houses reflected off the glassy black water laid out smooth like a bottomless mirror before him. He took all this in, before his eyes traveled the length of the dock to focus in on Kimberly to the exclusion of all else. She stood huddled in an olive-green trench coat, her hands tucked into her arms. She looked small and alone, like the innocent little girl he had followed to the pier one cold December evening. The sight tugged at his heart; the memory even more so. The wide, weathered deckboards creaked as he approached her. "Hi."

She turned to him briefly, her eyes registering only mild surprise. "Hi." She attempted a perfunctory smile.

He watched her brush away tears and turn back to look out over the water.

She sniffled. "How did it go?"

Keeping his eyes steady on her, he reached in his back pocket for something. "Well enough." He sighed deeply. "I think he understands a little better now."

She nodded quietly, refusing to look at him.

He drew up alongside her and handed her his handkerchief.

She took it from him and dabbed at her eyes.

He shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets. "He feels awful about tonight, about what happened...what he said to you..." He looked at her, trying to read her expression.

"I know." She folded the handkerchief over in her hands. "It was a shock. He was just lashing out..."

"At _me_," Shane cut in. "He never meant to hurt you."

"What did you tell him?"

He found himself staring at her back, shut out quite deliberately. "The truth."

"The _truth." _She fumbled with the handkerchief. "Which apparently I'm no good at..."

"And _I_ am?" He put a hand to his chest. "Kimberly, you can't take all this on yourself." He let out an enormous sigh. "I should have told him about Victor years ago." He had thought about it -- during the time he and Andrew spent together in England, in particular. But he'd convinced himself not to, that he was sparing Kimberly's feelings, shielding her from the pain of revisiting it all, protecting Andrew. In actual fact, he realized now, he may have only been protecting himself -- out of fear of revealing his weaknesses and losing Andrew's admiration and respect, which it appeared he'd lost anyway. "I should have told him the kind of man Victor is, tried to warn him. But I didn't. _You_ are not responsible for that."

"But he knows everything now, doesn't he?" she inserted quietly, saying it aloud as confirmation, the implication piercing her heart.

"Yes, he knows," he confirmed. "He also knows Victor manipulated you from the start, that he tried to control you...that he threatened you and your family. How he used you to get to me." He clenched his jaw, holding the level of his rising anger in tight. "And that _I_ let him."

"Shane..."

"As long as we're telling the truth, Kimberly, let's at least acknowledge that, shall we? The truth is I could've stopped him, or left the case to someone else. But I didn't." He exhaled sharply. "No, I was determined to prove myself, to get Kiriakis no matter what the cost. I convinced myself I was the only one to do it. And, in the process, I ignored all the signs. He was closing in on you, and I ignored what he was doing to you. I knew how dangerous he could be, and I left you alone with him to pursue my case. That's the truth."

She closed her eyes, retreating from his words, refusing to accept them. "But all that doesn't change the fact that I...I slept with him."

He stepped around her, gripping her shoulders firmly in his hands, facing her head-on. "You _saved my life_."

Her eyes fluttered open at the intended force behind his words. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "But how did I do that, Shane?" Her eyes brimmed with new tears. "Andrew knows that now, too." Her voice quivered. "He knows exactly what his mother was willing to do..."

"Kim, don't do this to yourself." He released her, stepping back from her slightly. "Please don't..."

She shoved the handkerchief in her pocket and paced steadily past him. "I know we agreed a long time ago that we wouldn't..." She sniffled. "We wouldn't tell the children who I was, what I did before I met you."

"Because it doesn't matter," he said firmly. "It was a long time ago. You're a completely different person now."

She shrugged her shoulders despondently. "No, I'm not." She shook her head. "I'm exactly the same. Tonight just proves it. I can never walk away from my past. Not really." She put her hands to her face, swiping at more tears.

He longed to find some way to comfort her, but the closer he got to her, the farther she strayed from him. "You know..." he began quietly, "in the months I was holed up in that black, cement cell...and I started to remember, really remember everything..." He came up alongside her, looking out over the water. "I told myself that if I lived through it, if I somehow made it out of there and found my way back to you that I would make this right." He turned to look at her. "And when you came to me in Rome..." He stepped up to her. "And you let me...hold you..." His voice caught. He reached up and ran a hand gently along her cheek. "You fell asleep in my arms. Remember?"

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath so near her own, the touch of his hand. "I remember."

He put his arm round her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I thought I finally made it clear to you then that I don't blame you. I should _never_ have let you feel that way. Not for one moment. Ever. You saved my life, Kimberly. You sacrificed yourself...for me. And it wasn't worth it." He took a shaky breath. "_I_ wasn't worth it."

She brushed a hand over his arm. "Don't say that."

He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. "But you've been carrying this around with you all this time." He lifted a strand of hair away from her face. "And you can't go on blaming yourself. You have to let it go."

She folded her arms protectively about her. "But it's more than that, Shane. It's..."

"I know." He tried to reassure her. "I know tonight's been hard on you. Andrew deliberately putting his life at risk like that, Cal being on the loose, and being reminded of...of all this...Everything came together at once, didn't it?"

"No, that's not it." She swallowed hard, as the long dormant images rushed to the surface, the feelings they evoked threatening to overtake her. "You don't understand."

He furrowed his brow a minute as he tried to interpret what she was saying. Slowly realizing he couldn't, he said finally, "You're right, I don't." He reached out and cupped her face in both hands. "But I want to," he whispered. "Talk to me. Help me understand."

She took shallow breaths, attempting to stem the tide of tears before they overwhelmed her. "I...I can't." She shook her head helplessly.

He pulled her closer, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers. "Just try, sweetheart. That's all I ask. Talk to me. Please."

Tears streamed down her face as, still shaking her head, she reached up and covered his hands with her own, then carefully extricated herself from his embrace. Absorbing the shattered look in her eyes, he reached for her, but she spun round and ran, making her escape over the dock and up the hill to the safety of the house and the solitude of her bedroom.

"Kimberly!"

He started to run after her, but something kept him from following this time. He halted at the base of the dock, dropping his arms to his sides, completely and utterly defeated. "Damn!" He shouted, kicking a wooden bench out of place before slumping down onto it. "Oh, damn." He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face and blinking through hot tears. _What am I doing here? _He raised his eyes skyward, watching the clouds break apart as the fog finally lifted. _I should have stayed away, _he concluded_._ _I'm only a reminder of the pain. And I end up hurting her more._

He squeezed his eyes shut, preferring the darkness of his thoughts to the promise of the bright, new stars winking above him. _Every time I'm near her, I hurt her more._


	29. Chapter 28

**Donovan House, mid-morning, the next day**

As if to make up for the dull grey of yesterday, the sky shone a clear, cloudless blue. The sun, still too far away from summer to impose too brightly, cast a feathery veil of light through the bay window into the quiet, minimalist kitchen. Seated alone at the mahogany pedestal table, Kimberly could feel the sun's subtle warmth on her arms and shoulders, see the specks of dust whirling in the hazy shaft of light above her, smell the aroma of ginger rising in the steam from her teacup. She picked up a spoon, set the soaked teabag on it and wound the string round it tightly, before setting the spoon on the saucer and bringing the cup to her lips. She turned to the window and closed her eyes, letting the light bathe her face a while. She missed the sun. She missed mornings on her deck at the beach house, the rhythm of the waves, the salty air, the crying seagulls -- her daily reminder that peace does exist somewhere in the world. Somewhere outside herself.

She had tried in vain to dispel the ghosts that had settled in around her last night, keeping her awake more than she cared to admit. In many ways, they were like old friends, these ghosts. Constant. Familiar. So much a part of her she didn't know where they stopped and she began. She thought she'd been able to separate them out, one by one, through the years, keeping them at a safe distance. Still, here they were. Faithful as ever. Truer than any friend, actually. And they weren't going away. They were never going away. The images flooded her mind like old, grainy film clips: the afternoons left alone with her uncle while her mother struggled to keep the fish market running; the look in his eyes as he positioned himself close beside her on the couch, or on the edge of the bed in her bedroom. She'd held her body still, unmoving, clenched, trying to think of something, anything -- the late afternoon sunlight streaming through sheer curtains in her window, the menacing shadows that formed on the walls. Then there was the fishing trip, miles away from anyone; Uncle Eric's clumsy fumblings in a rowboat in the middle of a deserted lake, the mist hanging low over them, shrouding them in secrecy as if it, too, were pressing her to keep quiet. _Shh._ _Don't tell anyone. They won't believe you anyway. _And later, in Paris, where secrets no longer mattered: the leering looks from Hart Bennett's friends as he paraded her through cocktail hours and gin-soaked soirees. The inside jokes and jabs. The haughty glares from the women; the men passing her their business cards...and room keys. She set down her cup to wipe away the tears as they resurfaced. She thought she'd cried them all out of her. She bit her lower lip and rested her forehead on her hand, willing them to go away, damping them down as best she could. But she was powerless to stop them.

Jeannie stood in the doorway staring at her mother, unsure of whether or not to approach her. She didn't want to disturb her or upset her further. The thought amazed her that she could have grown up without her father and yet still feel she knew more about him than the woman at the table crying softly. She and her mother had an open, honest relationship most of the time, she reflected. They could talk about friends and boyfriends, school and career, her mother's work and photography, Jeannie's dancing and drama club. They'd even spent hours talking about her father. It dawned on Jeannie now, though, that there was a whole part of her mother she hadn't known about or bothered to look for before now. Seeing her parents together through adult eyes, she noticed something new in the woman who had raised her -- something unexplored, shut down, placed high up on a shelf, out of reach for years, like fine china. And now it appeared as if the china had come crashing to the ground and splintered at her mother's feet, and she didn't know why, or how to go about putting the pieces back together again. But she felt sure her father did, so she turned to head down the hallway to fetch him, but Kimberly's voice stopped her.

"Jeannie?" Kim cleared her throat and brushed at her tear-stained face. "Could you wait a minute, please? I...I'd like to talk to you."

Placing a hand on the door frame, Jeannie pushed against it, allowing the motion to redirect her into the room. "Sure." She walked past the rows of cupboards surrounding the sink to the breakfast bar where she made a show of pouring herself a mug of coffee. "What's up?"

Kimberly sniffled and reached for a tissue from the sideboard behind her. "I, uh...want your opinion on something."

Jeannie leaned her elbows on the green marble counter that separated them, taking careful sips from her mug. "Mama, is something wrong? Did something happen?" she finally managed to ask.

"Yesterday was a long day," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "That's all."

"Oh. Yeah. Of course." Jeannie nodded, taking the hint, but still searching doggedly for clues. "So, did Andrew finally tell you what he was up to on the pier last night?"

She closed her eyes, too tired to give her daughter the play-by-play, unwilling to let the name Cal Winters even pass from her lips. "He was trying to help with the investigation..."

Jeannie straightened. "By what? Setting himself up as bait?" She had deduced that much.

"I don't want to go into it all now." Kimberly waved her off wearily, the steady ache behind her eyes growing more persistent as the morning wore on. "You can ask him yourself." She gathered her teacup and saucer and headed for the sink.

Jeannie climbed onto a high wooden bar stool and turned to study her mother closely.

Looking out the small window over the sink, Kim nearly jumped as one of the lumbering guards strode past. She wasn't used to strangers patrolling outside at all hours. Instead of making her feel more secure, their presence set her on edge. "I've been thinking," she continued, running a damp dishcloth over the porcelain cup. "Maybe now is a good time for us to return to Los Angeles."

Jeannie balked. "But after last night..." She followed her mother's gaze. "All the added security. Wouldn't it be safer for us to stay here?"

Kimberly shrugged. "I don't know. It's just an idea." She let out an uneasy breath. "You've missed a lot of school, dance practice, your friends. I have cases I should follow up on..." She glanced over at Jeannie. "We can't keep our lives on hold forever."

Jeannie set down her mug, a resolute expression on her face. "What about Dad?"

Kimberly looked down, unable to formulate a response. She honestly didn't know, and she steadfastly refused to think about it. She just knew she had to get away from here, and the sooner the better. "I -- Naturally, I'll consult with him about this, and we'll see what our next step should be." She hoped that would pacify her.

"How soon would you like to leave?" she asked warily.

Kim breathed a sigh of relief. The questions were over. "This weekend, if you'd like. That way, we'll still have a few days to visit with family and wrap things up here..." She placed the clean cup and saucer on a rack to dry and wiped her hands on a towel by the stove. "Just think about it, okay, sweetie?"

Jeannie hopped down off the stool, retrieving her mug and refilling it to take with her. "Have you told Andrew?"

"Told me what?"

Kimberly turned reluctantly to view her son framed in the doorway. She had been dreading facing him, knowing full well that she couldn't avoid him, but still feeling unprepared for the moment she did. Only the thinnest of barriers stood between them now. He had seen her at her weakest, most vulnerable -- most disgraceful moment. He had seen too much. She lifted her eyes to his for a fraction of a second, then she walked away to busy herself clearing the remains of someone's breakfast dishes from the table -- probably one of the guards. "I was just telling Jeannie that I think it's time we went back to L.A."

"Now?" he furrowed his brow.

"It's as good a time as any." She placed the dishes on the counter and grabbed a clean cloth.

Aware of the palpable tension in the room, Jeannie glanced from one to the other, then down at her watch. "I think Misha might be awake by now. I'll go call her and find out what she's up to." She excused herself and headed down the hallway to the office.

Kimberly swiped at the crumbs on the table with vigor, feigning a nonchalance she didn't feel. "So, what do you think, Andrew? We could arrange for your physical therapy at home, and you could resume your life as a mild-mannered law school student."

Andrew paced over to the counter and leaned against it, the heaviness in his chest weighing on him more than ever. "Is this because of last night?" he asked, subdued.

She paused in her cleaning. "No." She stared at the table. "This has been on my mind for a while."

"Because if it has anything to do with..." He took an uneven breath. "Mama, I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I'm so sorry for the things I said to you, the way I treated you. I had no right. I was disrespectful and hurtful and -- "

"It's all right," she tried to dismiss him mid-sentence. She couldn't believe they were talking about this. She didn't want to talk about this.

"No, it's _not_ all right," he insisted. "What happened to you is not all right. And my dredging it all up like that -- "

"Andrew, please."

The tone of her voice quieted him.

"I don't want to talk about it." She turned away from him and sprinkled the crumbs from the cloth in her hand into the waste bin.

"Okay." He swallowed hard. "But you need to know how sorry I am."

"I do." She swiveled to face him, attempting to lift his guilt from him with a look. "Oh, honey, I do. And I'm not upset with you." She struggled to keep her voice even. "It's just hard for me..."

"I know."

A prolonged silence settled in over them as she contemplated the level of sincerity in his voice and the depth of concern reflected in the richness of his eyes. He looked and sounded so very much like his father at times. It always occurred when she least expected it. And right now the thought was more than a little unsettling for her. So she forced her mind to return to a subject she much preferred to discuss. "So, what do you think about my idea, about going home?" she queried softly.

"I think it might be nice," he began slowly. "For you and Jeannie." He looked at her. "But I can't go with you."

"What? Why not?"

"We both know it'll be safer for you if I stay here." Reading the anxious concern in her eyes, he added, "I need to do this, Mama." He shifted off his injured leg, leaning on his cane for more than physical support.

She looked away momentarily, wrestling with a whirl of emotions, finding herself unable, or perhaps even unwilling, to put up a fight any longer. So she gave in with a slow, resigned nod. Yes, for better or for worse, he was exactly like his father.

* * *

Shane paced past his desk, clasping the phone to his ear with one hand and rubbing the base of his neck with the other. "Friday afternoon will be fine." He lifted his head briefly, fixing his eyes on the unadorned walls of his one-time office. A note of uncertainty crept into his voice. "I'm not sure that will be possible." He furrowed his brow. "Yes, Dr. Brady did make the arrangements, but..." He sighed. After last night, he didn't want to presume anything, or expect too much. "Is it absolutely essential she be there, too?" He tapped the edge of his desk impatiently. "All right. Good. Thank you for your help, Dr. Strickland." He turned at the sound of a light rap at the door and locked eyes with his daughter. "I'll see you Friday, then. Yes. Good-bye." He hung up and leaned against the desk. "Morning, sweetheart."

Jeannie returned his weary smile and held out a mug of coffee to him. "Here." She set it on the desk. "I think you need this more than I do."

Shane chuckled. "Bless you."

"Oh. I forgot the cream and sugar."

"Not necessary." He took a ready sip.

Jeannie staked out a position behind the desk by the fireplace. "I can see that." She folded her arms in front of her as she studied his disheveled clothing and noted the dark circles ringing his eyes. It was clear he hadn't slept at all. She wished she knew why. There was so much about last night that didn't feel right. First, her mother; now her father. After a few solid minutes of introspection, she blurted out: "I'm not much of an informant, am I?"

He blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"I missed it completely."

He crinkled his eyes at her. "Missed what?"

She shrugged. "The whole Andrew-conspiring-to-take-down-Cal thing."

"We all missed it," he replied ruefully.

"But that's just it. I told you I'd keep an eye on him for you."

"Sweetheart -- "

"Daddy, I know him," she interjected earnestly. "He was pretty quiet when I talked to him after Peachy's funeral. I thought it was just a reaction to everything, but he always gets quiet and secretive when he's up to something -- and I didn't pick up on it."

"None of us did." He set down the coffee.

"And then there's last night," she continued less stridently. "Mama and Andrew." Her level of frustration rose as she mentally revisited the scene she had left behind in the kitchen. "I missed all that, too."

He squinted at her. "Last night? I'm not following you." He sat on the edge of the desk, facing her. "You were there at the pier. You saw what happened."

She summoned a breath. "No, I mean after we came home." She gestured towards the door. "I was so tired. I went upstairs to bed. I thought I would get out of the way." She tried her usual satiric smile on for size, but it felt strange on her lips. "It was pretty clear Mama planned to rip Andrew a new one for being such a tool."

He lifted his eyebrows in mild amusement at her color commentary, but continued to monitor her expression closely, detecting an undercurrent of sadness he couldn't quite make sense of.

She dropped her arm at her side and met his eyes briefly. "Then I heard you come in and..." She let her voice drift off. "There's something else, isn't there?" She hesitated, uncertain of how to put her feelings into words. "Something between you and Mama," she said softly. Then she bit her lip and gathered the courage to add, "It's probably why you're in here all bleary-eyed and Mama's in the kitchen crying."

"She's what?" Shane narrowed his eyes with concern.

Jeannie looked away. "Well, she _was_, anyway."

He looked down and rubbed at the whiskers on his chin. "Where is she now?"

"She's still there...with Andrew."

He nodded.

"But something's wrong." She swallowed. "I can tell. She seems nervous, and she's talking about going back to L.A."

"I see." Shane stood to his full height and crossed the room, trying to wriggle out from under his daughter's searching gaze. "Did she say when she was thinking of going?"

"This weekend." She moved round to the front of the desk and played with a stray pen she found there. "I mean, we can't go anywhere now, can we?" She glanced over at the window. "Not with that lunatic lurking about..." She rolled the pen back and forth, concentrating on its movement so as not to think about just exactly who that lunatic was -- or nearly was to her. Part of her knew the real reason her brother wanted him out of their lives so desperately -- not only because of what he had done to their mother, and to him, but because of what he stood for: the end of their family. She felt it, too. In fact, since learning of Cal's identity, and despite being assured otherwise, she had a hard time separating herself out of the equation.

"We can always arrange for the proper security out there," Shane responded decisively before turning towards her once more.

She looked up at him, stunned. She had not expected this kind of reaction.

"If your mother wants to return to L.A., if she needs to go..." he stumbled over the next word, "_home_, then that's what she should do." He paused, then added quietly, "And you should go with her."

She shook her head at him. "I can't believe you're saying this."

"Jeannie -- "

"I don't understand."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I'm not certain I'm the right person to explain it to you."

"So, something _did_ happen between the two of you." She gripped the edge of the desk for support. "What did you say to her?" She eyed him accusingly.

"Nothing." He held up hand. "Nothing." His eyes pleaded with hers. "It's something that happened a long time ago -- "

"Then why is she running away?" she shot back, not waiting for him to finish. "And why are you letting her run away?" Her eyes burned with angry tears.

"Honey, listen..." He walked to her and smoothed a hand down over her shoulder.

She pulled her arm away. "You said you wouldn't disappear again. You promised."

"And I won't," he replied vehemently. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

She met his steady gaze, and she could see that he meant what he said. Still, the whole thing confused her. _If he cared so much, then_... "But you're letting her go."

He bit down hard. "If it's what's best for her, then, yes."

She swiped at an errant tear, then squared her shoulders and challenged, "What if you're what's best for her?"

He stared at her, caught off-guard by this young slip of a girl asking such a profoundly insightful question. Recalling his reasons for staying away, he shut his eyes and admitted, more to himself than to her, "I'm not."

"How do you know that?" Her lip quivered, and she struggled to keep the tears inside. The combination of seeing her mother more despondent than she'd ever seen her and the prospect of being separated from her father yet again was proving too much for her. "How do you know if you won't even try?"

"I am trying." Tears pricked at his own eyes as he looked at her. "Believe me, I am."

She sniffled. "Then try harder."

He breathed a heart-heavy sigh. Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on the top of her head and took her hand in his. He squeezed it tightly, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

"I know it hasn't exactly been my choice." Andrew perched his elbows on the countertop. "But I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try to keep you and Jeannie as far away from this as possible."

Kimberly shook her head. "Spoken like a true Donovan." She had hoped to keep her tone from becoming too acerbic, but it seemed a losing battle today. Everything did.

He lowered his eyes from hers, determined to find something to clear away the pall that surrounded them both. "And I promise to behave myself," he added, crossing his fingers and holding them up with a sly grin. "Scout's honor."

_If he only knew_, she thought as the memories washed over her. "You'd better_." _She favored him with a wan smile. "And you'll come home as soon as you can?" The smile faded.

He slid off the stool. "I will." He took up his cane, and strolled over to her, giving her a one-handed hug. "Let me know when you've firmed up your plans. I'm gonna go check my email."

She watched him go. "Expecting something from a certain lit student at Oxford?"

He stopped, blushing furiously.

"Say hi for me."

He willed his embarrassment to subside. "Sure thing."

Shane crept up behind the mahogany French door and lifted his hand to knock. Catching sight of Andrew, he thought better of it and stepped back from view.

"Oh, and Mama?" Andrew twisted towards her. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but may I just say one thing?"

She nodded guardedly.

He licked his lips. "I may know...more about you now. But none of that changes the way I see you." His warm brown eyes reached out to her. "You're my mother. I've watched you come through some pretty tough times over the years..."

She averted her eyes from his and inched away from him, casually folding the dish towel on the counter to occupy herself.

He was grateful. It had always been difficult for her to accept compliments, he knew, and it was infinitely easier for him to get this out if she didn't look at him. "And you've done so with such strength, determination, and grace. I'll always see you that way no matter what. That's who you are to me."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I admire you. That won't ever change." As important as it was to him that she hear this, it was hard to keep his voice even. "I just want you to know that."

She pressed a hand against her mouth to settle her emotions, while outside in the hallway, Shane leaned back against the wall to steady himself. He lifted his eyes heavenward in silent gratitude to the gods or whomever it was that had miraculously allowed him this moment in time. He felt the need to store it up in his memory to replace the years of emptiness that had gone before.

Pushing away from the counter and rubbing at new tears, Kimberly attempted a half-smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

Andrew lowered his head self-consciously. He wished he could do something more for her. A rapid tap on the door broke through his consciousness, and he pivoted to greet his father. "Morning," he called out eagerly. He surprised himself at just how eagerly.

"Good morning." Shane ducked his head through the door, his eyes flitting from Andrew to Kim and coming to rest on her. "Hope I'm not interrupting." _Silly thing to say_, he told himself. _Of course you're interrupting._

"Of course not," Kimberly replied graciously. She sniffled and returned to the dish cloth on the counter.

Andrew glanced at his mother. He had that old familiar feeling -- like he was invisible and his parents were the only two people in the room. _Hell, the only two people in the universe_. He decided to make a discreet exit. "I have some work to do." He looked up at Shane. "May I use your office?"

"Whatever you need." Shane placed a finger to his lips, considering, then decided to reveal, "I think you should know -- I received a call from Roman a little while ago."

"Oh?" Andrew tried to appear nonplussed, but he was hopeful his uncle had uncovered something about Winters. "Did they learn anything new?"

Their eyes met for the first time that morning. "They found a small blood trail of sorts," Shane began. "An investigator also discovered some torn rags on a bench a few blocks up from the pier."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"It seems you got him after all." Shane was thankful years of training had taught him how to keep his voice level and his face devoid of expression. For all the anxiety and consternation his son's audacity had caused him, he was more than a little proud of this latest development.

Andrew averted his eyes to sequester the look they carried, which he could only assume was a little too self-congratulatory for anyone's tastes. He promptly replaced the look with something more staid and business-like. "But I take it the trail doesn't lead anywhere."

"I'm afraid not." Shane pursed his lips. "He must have had help."

Andrew nodded his understanding. "Okay. Thanks for telling me." He hesitated. "Oh. Um, Dad?"

"Yes?" He never tired of hearing his son call him that.

"Will you be going to visit David -- Agent Halpern -- today?"

Shane checked his watch. "Bo and I are scheduled to meet at the hospital in an hour."

"Do you mind if I come with you?" he ventured.

"No, not at all." Shane slid one hand in his pocket. "I think he would like to see you."

Andrew cast him a wary look. He could make a fair guess as to what David would say and, more importantly, what he would want to know. _After all,_ he thought guiltily_, my recklessness almost cost him his life. _His father's knowing look sought to reassure him on that count. He thanked him, sent his mother an encouraging wave, and left them alone.

Shane watched him go, then swiveled on his heels and transferred his reassuring look to Kimberly.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, trying to fill the gap in conversation and regretting how inane her comment sounded. "Silly question," she corrected under her breath. She nervously gathered more dishes and transported them to the sink.

"It's not silly," he responded before retreating with her into awkward silence. He tracked her movements, fully absorbed in his thoughts, running over echoes of the heartfelt words he'd heard Andrew say to her moments before. With so many regrets plaguing him over the years, he had never for one minute doubted Kimberly's ability to raise his children, and raise them exceptionally well. He could rest easy in that knowledge; on his darkest days, it encouraged him to know that. Every day he spent with them now brought further confirmation of her extraordinary skills as a mother. He drew up alongside her and rested against the counter, fixing his eyes on her, noting the way the sun cascaded through the window and lit her hair, longing to reach out and touch it. "Have I ever thanked you?" he asked shyly.

She glanced at him, thrown off by the question. "Thanked me? For what?"

"The children..." He allowed his gaze to meander out the window. "Andrew and Jeannie. They're..." He shook his head incredulously. "Amazing." He examined his hands, searching for the right words. "The events of yesterday notwithstanding, I think that...Matter of fact, I _know_ they're amazing. They've become such accomplished, loyal, kind...giving people." His eyes sought hers. "_You_ did that. I owe you a great deal for that."

She was taken aback at his unvarnished honesty. On the one hand, she knew he was right and that she needed to accept his well-placed gratitude. On the other, she knew, despite everything, he hadn't wanted it to be this way. The emotion in his eyes told her even now how much he longed for things to be different. She did, too. But the reality was impossible to ignore.

He chose not to. "So, thank you."

"You're welcome." She held on to the sincerity in his eyes just long enough to respond, then looked away. "But you know," she began, in part to cover her grief, in part to assuage his, "there's only so much a parent can do." She finished rinsing a plate and set it aside. "They've become who they are..." She lifted her shoulders slightly. "Sometimes in spite of my efforts."

"Modest, as usual." He followed her hands as they took up a cloth and dried the lip of the sink. "Kimberly Brady, you don't give yourself enough credit."

"Neither do you, Shane Donovan," she demured, sneaking a second glance at him before stepping away from the sink. His honesty spurred her own. "They admire you so much," she added wistfully. "They've always wanted to make their papa proud. You must know that."

He made a study of the ceramic floor tiles. It was difficult to keep his emotions in check this morning. He cleared his throat and immediately changed the subject. "I heard a rumor you're going back to L.A."

"Ah..." She rubbed her hands over her arms. "Jeannie told you." She lifted her brow, a minimal effort that still sent a laser-like jab of pain coursing through her head, just behind her eyes. She ran a hand over them and let out a controlled breath. "Now...I know what you're going to say," she continued, forcing a casual tone. "After last night, we're probably forbidden to set foot outside the front door of this house, let alone fly across the country, but...."

"I think you should go."

"You do?"

"If it's what you want, what you need to do, then go."

His response rendered her speechless. All morning long she had been avoiding him, thinking his presence would only add to her distress and make matters worse. But now, taking in the steady calm of his voice, the serenity of his eyes as he looked at her without expectation, she realized she was wrong. He was actually making things easier.

He stuffed his hands back in his pockets and traversed the small space between the counter and the kitchen table. "I'll probably send Wilson with you. He can piece together a team in L.A." He came to the window and looked out briefly. "Now, it won't be ideal. You'll still have to check in, and they'll need to accompany you whenever you leave the house."

"I know."

He glanced at her worriedly. "Oh, and...there's one more thing you may not like."

"What's that?"

He meted out his words, expecting resistance. "Andrew should probably stay here."

"He already suggested it," she assured him.

"He did? And you're okay with it?"

"For now I am."

He ran a hand along the edge of the kitchen table and strolled back to her. "So...when would you like to leave?"

"I was thinking...Saturday maybe."

He unhooked the Blackberry from his belt. "Morning or afternoon?" By way of explanation, he offered, "I have to make some travel arrangements myself, so I may as well set up something for you." He ceased clicking through applications and screens to insert, apologetically, "If you'd like me to, that is."

She reached for the back of her neck, lightly massaging it, distracted by her headache and a sudden drowsiness. "Where are you going?" she managed to get out.

"New York. Remember?"

She nodded. "Oh. That's right. Eve."

"Yes. Eve. Thanks to you and your impeccable credentials, I'll be able to get in to question her after all."

"Good." She gripped the edge of the sideboard to steady herself. "Eve," she repeated. "I'm sorry." She put a hand on her forehead. "I told you I'd go with you..."

He turned his attention to his Blackberry, dismissing her concerns with a slight wave. "Don't worry about it. I can manage."

"I -- I know you can. But... I hope -- " She let her head droop forward as the pain shot up the back of her neck. "I hope..." The table blurred before her and she placed both hands on it to keep from collapsing.

"Hey." He dropped the phone on the table. "Are you feeling all right?" He rushed to her side, placing a protective arm around her waist.

"I'm..." She took a deep breath, as the thudding pain in her head grew more virulent. "I'm fine."

Unconvinced, he moved his hands up over her shoulders. "Here." He pulled out a chair and guided her to it. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"No, I..." She remained standing and blinked to clear her vision. "I'm okay."

He stepped aside to give her room. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"I tried." She offered a weak smile.

He lifted a hand to sweep the hair away from her face and found himself lingering there, brushing at her cheek. "Kimberly..."

She closed her eyes. "I'm okay. Really," she lied.

"You always are, aren't you?" he reflected. "Even when you're not."

_I'm not,_ she cried inwardly, though she couldn't admit it out loud. _I'm not okay._ She was afraid to open her eyes; for, in addition to the strain, she knew what she would find in his when she finally did so. And she wasn't ready for it. Not yet. She was too exhausted. And in too much pain...and...and she couldn't think.

As if sensing this, he slid his hand down her neck and over her shoulder, caressing it lightly. Then, against his better judgment and most probably hers, he surmised, he pulled her gently towards him and wrapped her in his arms. To his astonishment, she rested her head against his chest and he could feel her sink slowly into his embrace. He ran a hand slowly over her hair, coming to the nape of her neck and tracing feather-light circles on her skin. Unthinking, instinctively he touched his lips to her temple and stood holding her to him for as long as she would let him. He knew, most likely, it would not be long. She was tired -- emotionally and physically drained. He also knew he was the last person she trusted to truly comfort her right now. But he would take what he could get.

He had no idea the jumble of thoughts racing through her mind as she tried to figure out what was happening to her. Safe in his arms, she kept her breathing steady so as not to alert him to the tremendous physical effort it took just to stay standing. She wanted to crawl into a ball on the floor and, though his presence comforted her, she didn't know how much longer she could keep all this from him.

"Dad?" Jeannie burst through the door. "Oh." She halted, kicking herself for interrupting. "Wouldn't you know it?"

Shane released Kimberly reluctantly and spun around. "Jeannie? What is it?"

"I'm sorry." She wore the disappointment all over her face. "But it's Nico. He says he has that secure call lined up for you."

Shane nodded, his voice registering similar disappointment, "I have to take this." He peered at Kimberly intently. "Will you be all right?"

She settled into the chair he had set out for her. "Fine."

He wanted to believe her, but something about her demeanor nagged at him. "You'll let me know if you need anything, won't you? Anything at all."

"I will."

He stepped past Jeannie, and with an anxious backward glance, strode purposefully out of the room.

Seeing he had gone, Kimberly slumped forward, placing her aching head in her hands, unable to say anything as the pain overwhelmed her completely.

"Mama!" Jeannie ran to her and crouched by her side, clasping her by the arms. "Mama, what's wrong? Do you have another one of those headaches?"

She caught her breath. "My...my cell phone. Upstairs -- "

Jeannie looked around her, panic-stricken. "I -- Wait here," she instructed. "I'll go get Dad --"

"No!"

Jeannie started, thinking fast. "But, but -- What about Andrew? I'll get Andrew to help."

"No. Please." Kimberly lowered her voice. "I just -- I need you to call Neil. The number...You know -- the number..." She rested her head on the table.

Jeannie stood frozen to the spot, glancing from her mother to the hallway and back again, torn between conflicting thoughts and loyalties. Her first instinct was to run to her father, but seeing her mother's face when she told her not to... "At least let me drive you to the hospital or something." She reached out and touched her shoulder. "Mama? _Mama?_"

When Kimberly failed to respond, Jeannie made her decision. She got up to go for her cell phone, but noticed her father's Blackberry on the table and snatched it. She leaned over and whispered, "Hold on. Please." Standing guard over her mother, she frantically punched in Neil Curtis's home number from memory.

* * *

After assuring Andrew they would leave for the hospital shortly, Shane shut the door to his office, and climbed behind his desk, lifting the receiver to his ear. "Do you have him on the line?" he inquired without preamble.

"My deepest apologies, Shane, my boy," came the gruff response. "I'd venture you were expecting your brother."

Shane's blood ran cold as long dormant images resurfaced, connecting up with the voice that had taunted him in his nightmares for years. "Rory?"

"Ah...so you remember me now at last."


	30. Chapter 29

**Donovan House, communications room, the next** **day**

Shane peered into the web cam. "I can't believe I fell for it!" His fist hit the computer-lined console with a resounding forcefulness. "It's not like Drew hasn't used himself as bait before." He eyed the thin-lipped, angular man on the flat-screen monitor before him.

ISA Agent Sandor Lukacs's granite stare remained unflappable. Very few things surprised him. "You were convinced your brother came to Miss Peach's funeral of his own accord. You had no reason to suspect otherwise."

"Rory sent him as a distraction." Rubbing his sore shoulder, Shane added venomously, "Shooting at me was just Drew's warped idea of _fun_." He let an exasperated epithet slip past. "All he had to do was wait it out. He knew I couldn't make a move till I knew more."

"And now our mystery man has them both -- Drew...and Nico." Lukacs flicked an eyebrow upward. "Any thoughts on how to proceed?"

Shane sighed wearily. He didn't want to think of what that madman would do to Nico. He knew all too well what he was capable of. "I was rather hoping you could provide me some assistance on that front."

"What do you need?"

"Nico was searching for a connection between Alfred Jericho and Rory. Maybe there's a way in through a mutual association with my grandfather. I need something, anything. Even the smallest link." Shane was tired of playing catch-up.

"I will see what I can do..."

Shane noted the agent's hesitation. "Sandor, what is it?"

"And the recovery operation for Agent Firenti?" He used Nico's full name to mask his worry in professional detachment. He, too, knew exactly what his colleague was facing.

"There won't be one." Shane looked away, pained at the implications. "I've spoken to Mitchell. He seems to think it best to leave it...for the time being, anyway. They want to concentrate on debriefing Jeffers and go at it that way." Shane dropped his shoulders in resignation. "As much as I hate to admit it, I'm inclined to agree with him. Nico is far more useful to us on the inside."

Sandor nodded slow acceptance. "And the wily old Italian is plenty stubborn still."

"Yes, he is." The corners of Shane's mouth twitched up in the outline of a smile.

A contemplative silence filled the space between them until Sandor could summon a follow-up: "Do you expect they will retrieve any useful information from Jeffers?"

Shane clicked his tongue. "I doubt it." From what he could piece together, the young man had been blindsided by the attack on Donovan Manor. He was lucky to be alive at all. Shane's only consolation was that none of the other staff were present, and Simmons had been out of town visiting relatives at the time.

"I see." Sandor reached for his fedora and set it squarely in place, like the finishing touches to a 1930's detective costume. "Not to worry, Donovan. I will find where the bodies are buried."

"And that," Shane inhaled deeply, "is precisely why I called you, my friend."

"Beh! Well..." Sandor dismissed the compliment with a wave. "Secure line 2-2-7-4." He rattled off his call signal and disconnected the video link, leaving Shane to stare at his own reflection in the darkened monitor.

Surrounded by the tomb-like emptiness of the communications room, its oppressive silence weighed heavily on him. Despite his training and experience, his extensive contacts and resources, he was acutely aware of one thing: he was desperately alone. There was a time when the feeling was safe, almost comforting, but that time had long since passed. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. In the inner recesses of his mind, a distinctive voice crept through his consciousness as yesterday's phone conversation replayed in a seemingly interminable loop:

_"Rory?"_

_"Ah, so you remember me now at last."_

_Shane refused to give him the satisfaction. "Where's Nico? What have you done with him?"_

_"This should come as no surprise, but your brother does a fair imitation. Not that young Jeannie would know." He leaned into the next line: "She is an enchanting conversationalist, by the way. Puts me in mind of your mother."_

_Shane gritted his teeth as he considered his options. "Why not just take Drew and have done with it? What purpose does all this serve?"_

_"Oh, there need be no grand purpose. I am doing this simply because...I can."_

_"By my watch, it's been ten minutes," Shane said brusquely, taking control and attempting to reset the pace. "Aren't you due for a change in scenery? Really racking up those frequent flier miles. It must be a damned nuisance. Not how most men would care to spend their declining years." As he dragged out the conversation, he messaged London HQ to get a fix on the line. Perhaps Nico had set it up through official channels. It was a long shot, he knew._

_"Fortunately," Rory responded, his lazy, deliberate tone unchanged, "I am not like most men, declining or otherwise." He deepened his voice. "I think we both know that."_

_Shane winced as the memories rushed at him, striking him like a glancing blow: a damp, concrete dungeon, intermittent flashes of light piercing his vision -- too bright and painful to look at or even lift his head in their direction. The whir of the machine as it powered up in anticipation of the gripping tentacles of electricity that would soon course through his body, spreading to the very tips of his fingers and back again, stealing his breath from him. This time a singular detail attached itself to the others: the glint in a pair of thunderous green eyes as they observed him from behind a glass partition, smoke trailing from a thin cigarillo he held to his lips. _

_"What do you want?" Shane asked, having uttered the question too many times to count. The text he received relayed the impossibility of tracing the line._

_"What I truly want," Rory answered wistfully, "I shall never have again." He then lapsed into a protracted silence, waiting for just the right moment. "How does it feel, Shane?"_

As intended, those words cut into Shane's subconscious with razor-sharp accuracy. He knew exactly how it felt. For years, he had done what he could to keep his feelings at bay, to mask them over with an almost obsessive habit of checking and re-checking the surveillance reports he received on Kimberly and the children. He waited anxiously for every morsel of information, every missive filed, every photograph. And the daily call-in -- "all okay here" -- was the only thing that allowed him to sleep comfortably at night. His concern for their safety had been uppermost in his mind, and only now could he freely admit to himself that his overprotectiveness, though warranted, had been a sort of place-holder. It was an excuse to think about them, to wonder about how they were doing, to imagine what his life would have been like with them in it. In fact, knowing as much as he did about them allowed him the further fantasy of believing they were still together as a family. Though they were unaware of his presence, he could be there in the shadows, faithfully watching over them.

But it wasn't enough. As he infiltrated his grandfather's organization, traveling from city to city to divert shipments, give false instructions and eventually shut down operations altogether, he found himself making unscheduled stops in the States. He told himself he was keeping up appearances with Drew's contacts in New York and Miami; and the occasional side trip to Chicago to update John Black on his progress would not go amiss, he thought. But every step along the way brought him closer to Los Angeles, closer to them, to where he felt he could slip in unnoticed to watch Jeannie's performance in _Taming of the Shrew,_ or hide in the shade of a tree across the playing field from Andrew and his friends, or take the night watch at the beach house. He'd watch Kimberly switch off the television and walk from room to room, dousing the lights, ending in the bedroom where he could catch a glimpse of her at the window before she slowly drew the curtains, leaving him with only his thoughts to keep him company.

Then, after a tortuous night of missing her so much it became a physical ache, he'd face a new day and swear up and down never to put himself through that again. He'd determine to leave the surveillance to his agents and somehow manage to push Kimberly and the children to the back of his mind again, if only for a while.

_"How does it feel, Shane?"_

Rory's taunting voice combed through the cobwebs of Shane's battered memory, resurrecting a smattering of images, snippets of hushed conversations, and deeply-welled emotions he didn't know what to do with. Shane opened his eyes and stared at the files before him, mentally sifting through them, looking for something he had missed. But there was nothing. Nothing but those infernal dreams he kept having and the feeling he was stuck in dank, syrupy blackness and couldn't move. And the voice came at him again: "_You are to remember nothin' and no one. Everything that once mattered to ya will be gone, erased, like it never happened. You will cease to be who you were. I'll see to it. _Then_ you will know. Then you'll understand what it feels like to lose__..."_

Shane instinctively clenched his fists as against some unseen enemy, recalling the chafing of the ropes that once bound his wrists and ankles and the heavy cloth gag that nearly choked him as he fought the lumbering figure before him. Then the needle, and nothing. _Nothing and no one._ Returning to the present, he blinked at the scattered papers and folders on the desk, shaking his head clear of the daydream, his breath coming fast and uneven. "What's happening to me?" he asked the barren room. In an attempt to steady his hands from shaking, he raked them through his hair and linked them behind his neck. "Why now?" And why did the memories come in bits and pieces, out of order and jumbled up like puzzle pieces that stubbornly refused to fit together? "What the hell does it mean?!" He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his head. "Why can't I remember?!" As his frustration reached a boiling point, he swept the files off the desk in one smooth motion, taking a nearby brass lamp with them. Then he picked up his day-old coffee and sent the mug hurtling against the wall.

Leaning on the desk to catch his breath, he looked up briefly at the Rorschach stain the coffee left behind and focused in on the clock mounted next to it on the wall. _Was that the time?_ He double-checked his watch. He had been here all night, and an appointment he didn't relish keeping loomed before him. Best to get it over with. He sighed and reached for the door to the outer office, momentarily disquieted to find Andrew waiting expectantly.

"So, have you changed your mind?" his son asked.

Shane rubbed the back of his neck, thankful for the sound-proofing in the communications room that had prevented Andrew from hearing his earlier outburst. "About what?" He crossed the room and poured himself a glass of mineral water from the bar.

"My coming with you." He watched his father closely. "You thought it was a good idea yesterday, but that was yesterday." He shifted his stance to address him more directly. "I haven't seen you since we spoke with David at the hospital. I just thought I'd ask." He had felt a strange unease ever since then, and the look on his father's face confirmed that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. Despite years of convincing himself he could do without him, in a matter of days he had unwittingly come to rely on his father's presence, his unwavering sense of purpose, which now seemed to have vanished. He halted before venturing, "Is everything okay?"

Shane drained the glass and set it down carefully, closing his eyes briefly. His first reaction was to slough it off, to put on a brave face as he had done so often before. But it was getting harder and harder to do. "No," he admitted woodenly. "Far from it, actually."

"Is there anything I can do?"

In a rare moment of raw honesty between them, Shane met his son's eyes and attempted a weak smile. "Your being here helps. More than you know." His statement hung in the air a moment before he cleared his throat of the emotion and busied himself over at his desk. "So, to answer your question, I haven't changed my mind. I need you there with me." He looked up at him again. "But before we go, I'd like to use your shower, if I may. Give you some time to check your email or catch breakfast -- "

"Oh, good. You haven't left yet." Jeannie appeared at the door, breathless, still standing partly in the hallway. "Can I talk to you?"

Shane moved to the other side of his desk and leaned back against it. "Of course." He crossed his arms and exchanged a quick look with Andrew.

She stepped gingerly inside the office. "There's something I think you should know."

* * *

Kimberly sat back against the softness of the ivory-satin chaise lounge in her room and ran a hand over her forehead, still cradling her cell phone with the other. "Neil, I told you, I feel fine. The pain comes and goes, and the medication is helping."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Kimberly," he responded with practiced equanimity, "but we both know you should be in the hospital right now."

"Neil..." She let her voice drop off. She knew what he was going to say.

"Dr. Avery sent me your films." Seated at his dining room table, the early morning light seeping through the curtains, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand, then replaced his glasses and examined the ghostly CT and MRI negatives in front of him. "I'm sure he's explained everything to you." He sighed. "There's no time to debate this."

"Neil, I know you mean well, but --"

"I'm giving you more than friendly advice here, Kimberly!" His voice exploded through the phone line. He took a deep breath and removed his glasses. "Do I really have to tell you how serious this is?"

"Dr. Avery said it's taken a while to get to this point." She smoothed a hand over her dressing gown, biding time with a level voice that belied her anxiety. "A few more days shouldn't make that much difference."

"Kimberly," he interjected as patiently as he could, "you are extremely lucky he found the cyst at all. And it's growing." He dropped his glasses on the table, before admonishing her sternly: "A few more days, and this thing could put you in a coma. Or, worse." He swallowed. "It could kill you." In fact, he was grateful his colleague at Salem General had been able to work through her symptoms enough to discover it. As rare as a colloid cyst of the brain was, the intermittent symptoms made diagnosing them correctly even rarer. If found early enough, these types of brain tumors were mostly benign and could be managed over time, provided they remained small and didn't cause intense swelling. However, in Kimberly's case, the cyst had grown enough to where surgery appeared to be her only option. He hoped to convey the gravity of the situation to her before it was too late. "Kimberly?"

She looked out the window at the neglected gardens below. At least the wildflowers were still capable of blooming. And the roses. There were a few that had survived the harsh chill of winter.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I just..." Coming face to face with her own mortality, particularly in light of recent events, took a monumental effort. It was too much for her to take in. "I can't do this. Not here. Not now."

"I'm afraid you have no choice."

A soft knock drew Kim's attention and she turned towards the door, swinging her feet slowly to the floor. "Neil, I have to go."

"Kimberly --"

Jeannie peeked her head in.

"I'll see you Sunday," Kimberly assured him. Sighting the plaintive look on her daughter's face, she gestured for her to enter. "Then we can do whatever's necessary," she added faintly before brightening. "I promise to give you free rein."

"You need surgery now, not a few days from now..." He heaved a defeated sigh. "I wish I knew what to say to convince you. Will you at least call me later?"

"I will," she said quietly. "Thanks, Neil." She turned the phone off and stood slowly to her feet. "Morning, sweetie." She walked to her daughter and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Jeannie breathed, pleased to see the color had come back into her face.

"Much better." Kim smiled reassuringly. "Thank you for your help yesterday."

Jeannie shook her head. "I'm not sure I helped much." She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears, then forced her hands into her jeans' pockets.

"Don't be silly. I don't know what I would have done without you." Kim ran a hand along her arm. "So, what's up? What's wrong?"

Jeannie shrugged her shoulders and brushed past Kimberly to find a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm getting pretty good at lying for you." From the moment she first contacted Neil yesterday to the next moment when Kimberly woke up and insisted they take her to Salem General, away from prying eyes and the possibility of running into someone they knew, especially Kayla, Jeannie had complied with her mother's wishes. She had even managed to convince Wilson to take them to the hospital on the other side of town because her mother was having "a female problem" that required a specific doctor. The nature of the problem had the added benefit of ensuring Wilson's silence on the matter or, at the very least, that he would be slow to bring it up with his boss. Jeannie had always been capable of telling little white lies and convincing others they needed to do what she asked. She was a rather fine actress when called upon. But she never thought she would be performing at her mother's request. She looked up at her. "I almost told them, though." She pointed at the doorway. "Just now, I went down there to tell them that you're sick."

"Jeannie. Honey, I told you. I'm not sick."

"But he ran all those tests.."

"The doctor said it's just stress." Kimberly rushed to allay her fears. "There's nothing for anyone to worry about."

"You keep telling me that." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "But I was there, remember?" She refocused on Kimberly. "You really scared me. And no matter what you say, I still think they should know." But with her father's and brother's full attention on her only a few minutes ago, her promise to her mother had silenced her in a way she never expected. Instead, she found herself mumbling an apology for using her father's Blackberry without his permission and slinking away, skirting their blank stares before they could ask any questions.

Kim came to sit beside her on the bed and put an arm around her. "Listen, I just got off the phone with Neil. He made me promise to come see him when we get home. And I told him I would. He'll examine me from head to toe." She squeezed her daughter's shoulders. "And if he finds something..." She inhaled deeply, then leaned her head against Jeannie's. "We'll deal with it then."

Jeannie reached up and put her hand over her mother's. "I just don't understand why you won't let me tell them."

"They have enough on their minds." Kimberly stared straight ahead. "And I'm just trying to --" She searched for the word. "_Protect_ them." She pulled away and moved off the bed to collect her clothes for the day. "The same way they think they're protecting me by not telling me they're going to see Victor."

Jeannie arched an eyebrow. Even in a weakened state, no one could put anything past her mother. Still, the word choice was not lost on her. _Protect them from what?_ she wondered.

* * *

**The Kiriakis Mansion**

A stooped, white-haired man in formal dress pulled the heavy wooden door open to admit Shane and Andrew into the ornate foyer.

"Good morning, Henderson," Shane offered.

"Morning, sir. Good to see you again."

Andrew eyed them both, wondering when they would have had occasion to meet.

"And you." Shane nodded politely. "Mr. Kiriakis is expecting us."

"Very good, sir." He closed the door and directed them to a back hallway just beyond the stairwell. "He is waiting for you in the study. Please follow me."

Andrew took in the scene: rich oriental rugs, polished mahogany wood paneling, marble urns and statuettes. "Dad?"

"Hmm?" Shane motioned for Andrew to precede him.

"Didn't you once own this house?"

"Ages ago." Shane glanced around. "A lot's changed since then." His eyes drifted up the winding stairs to envision a cozy, blue and white-laced room at the end of the hallway. He recalled with perfect clarity now every moment he had spent there with Kimberly; the whisper of her voice in the night: _"Love makes people do very foolish things_." Such as climbing over a security wall and through a window to be with her, despite the danger to himself, and especially to her. He had been young and foolhardy, and completely and utterly in love. _"Well, you know what they say," he had returned easily -- too easily. "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."_ _Or where angels were wise enough not to_, he rebuked his younger self. For certainly they had knowledge he lacked of the demons lying in wait. _Speaking of which..._ He followed Andrew into the imposing study, its walls draped in blue and crimson jewel-toned tapestries and lined with leather-clad rows of books. A museum collection of ancient scrolls and artifacts lay ensconced in glass cases stationed in the four corners of the room.

Victor stood in front of the darkened marble fireplace, turning a shimmering ruby and diamond necklace over and over in his hand. He seemed lost in his own memories. He looked up as they entered and returned the necklace to a velvet case, tucking it deep inside his suitcoat pocket. Shane could have sworn he had seen the necklace before. "Good morning, gentlemen." Victor lifted his eyes to the doorway. "Henderson, would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?"

"Right away, sir." He backed into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Victor gestured towards a pair of white leather sofas. "Please."

"This is an official visit, Victor, as I'm sure you know." Shane passed up the chance to sit and paced over to the desk instead.

"I am well aware of why you're here, _Commander," _Victor parried without blinking an eye. "But if you will allow me to play the proper host. After all," he glanced from father to son, "Andrew hasn't been in this house since he was a baby."

Andrew sidestepped the barb. "Lovely home you have here," he quipped, slumping onto the couch. "You're most hospitable." He stretched his arm out over the seatback cushion and looked up at Victor. "Now, where's Cal Winters?"

Shane suppressed a smile.

Victor let out an appreciative chuckle. "All business, I see." He was disappointed his comment had failed to elicit a reaction. _The boy's been told,_ he surmised.

"I thought you preferred it that way," Andrew added confidently.

"I've learned over the years not to compartmentalize. I believe there's little, if any, distinction between one's personal and professional lives." He turned and locked eyes with Shane. "As I'm sure your father would agree."

Shane shuttered his thoughts behind a tempered facade. "So, tell me, Victor, were you _personally _responsible for springing Winters from prison?"

Henderson stepped through the doorway rolling a tea tray and began to distribute cups to each man.

Victor took his, but waited patiently for all to receive before taking a careful sip and waving Henderson off. When the doors were safely closed, he turned back to Shane and answered, "I had nothing to do with that. I detest the man."

Shane perused a pile of papers on the desk. "But you conveniently knew where to find him and recruited him to work for Titan in Baltimore."

"Like you, I had been tracking him at the penitentiary for years."

Andrew met his father's eyes briefly.

"You see," Victor continued fluidly, "I keep close tabs on those who have hurt the people I care about. No matter how much time has passed."

Shane glared at him. _So do I, old man._

Victor remained aloof. "When Winters broke out of prison, I had my men try to track him down. They had a devil of a time doing so." He paused before adding for Shane's benefit: "More than likely due to who's been helping him." He strolled over to Andrew and stopped. "Unfortunately, we didn't locate him soon enough." He put a hand on the couch and lowered his voice to convey feeling. "Andrew, I want you to know -- I regret what happened to you very much."

Andrew faced forward, stiffly refusing to look at him.

Victor returned to the fireplace. "But when my men did finally get to him..." He tilted his head towards Shane. "Let's just say I had advantages you didn't have. For one thing, he didn't think I wanted anything from him."

"It was all about what _you_ could give _him_, then." Shane simmered. "So you threw him my son."

Andrew sat up. "Dad --"

Victor narrowed his eyes. "Your son came to _me_, remember?"

"Which is exactly what you'd hoped he'd do," Shane countered. "Then you left him to fend for himself."

"Did I?" He asked quietly. "He seems to have come through it relatively unscathed."

"If it hadn't been for Agent Halpern --" Andrew chimed in.

"And just how do you think Halpern knew where to find you?" Victor delivered smoothly. "Who do you think tipped him off?"

Andrew blinked. "The ISA of course."

"Shane, please explain to your boy how this works." Victor put the teacup to his lips for another lingering sip.

Shane looked down and shook his head. He walked over to Andrew, who, by the expression on his face, was none too pleased with being discussed in the third person, much less being referred to as a "boy." Shane leaned on the sofa and steadied Andrew's reaction with a look. "Victor is former ISA."

Andrew recovered himself. "Really?" He studied Victor. "I find that hard to believe."

"Which is more unbelievable: that I alerted Halpern in time, or that your father and I once worked on the same side?"

Andrew shrugged. "Both, I guess."

Victor placed his empty cup on the mantle and slid his hands into his pockets. "A good spy is someone you can't pin down, someone whose able to play both sides against the middle. Keep everyone guessing. In a way, you could say they taught me everything I know." He honed in on Andrew again. "Has your father ever told you about the man who recruited him?"

Andrew remembered all that his father had told him about his former boss, about how he had betrayed him and the ISA. Of course, it was back when Andrew had been enamored of the intelligence game, when Shane's war stories conjured images direct from the pages of great adventure novels or World War II espionage movies. In the years since Shane's disappearance, when the reality of it all sank in, Andrew had grown to hate the ISA and the untold sacrifices it required. Still, knowing the history as he did, he took a cue from his father and feigned ignorance in front of Victor.

"We had great fun, Nickerson and I." Victor smiled. "He used to tell me he recognized a lot of the same qualities in you, Shane. He had great expectations for you within the Agency."

Shane scoffed. "We certainly expected more from him."

"Well, like anything, the job was a means to an end. At least, it was for me. It gave me recourse."

"Against who?" Andrew prodded.

Victor wagged an admonishing finger at him. "Very good." He grinned and shook his head, delighted. "When you pass the bar, I shall have to give serious consideration to hiring you for my legal team." He tossed Shane a look. "He's rather good at this."

Shane nodded. He left his cup on a side table, then straightened and tapped the edge of the sofa thoughtfully. "So now that we've established our mutual interest in Lieutenant Winters, can you tell me who you're hoping he will lead you to? Who is he really working for?" Shane had his suspicions.

Andrew perked up, aware that the real meeting had just begun.

Victor moved to a nearby bookcase and moved his finger along the spines of several volumes, before retrieving one and flipping through it gently. He moved to his desk and sat down, placing the book squarely in front of him. "You know, there are remarkable similarities. It's uncanny."

Andrew stood to his feet and followed his father as he approached the desk and stared down at the book: _Hamlet._

Victor looked up at Shane. "A man of your breeding and education can appreciate this, I'm sure." He opened the book to a marked page and slowly read: _"The serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown."_ He snapped the book shut. "Of course, you'll forgive me, but I prefer the original version -- _Oedipus_. It's a shame. Many of the so-called English classics borrowed heavily from the great Greek tragedies. It amounts to petty plagiarism at times."

Shane pursed his lips. "All literary criticisms aside, I can assure you my mother had absolutely nothing to do with any of this."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that."

"What do you mean?" Shane's jaw tightened. In a flicker of memory, he saw his mother standing on the garden patio, holding him tightly against the folds of her skirt as she fearlessly faced down a tall, dark-haired man. _"Good to see you, Maggie," Rory said softly._ _"And you must be Shane. Pleasure to meet ya."_

Victor sighed. "Well, that's neither here nor there, is it?" He pushed the book across the desk and stood to his feet. "What an interesting turn of events, wouldn't you say? We appear to be on the same side again, you and I. You see, the man you're looking for, the one pulling the strings on Cal and everyone else, is precisely the man I'm looking for." His eyes bored into Shane's. "Rory Donovan."

"Rory Don --" Shane took a noticeable step back. "Who?"

"Oh, you didn't know, did you?" Victor raised his eyebrows. "No, of course you didn't. Your father excised him from your lives just as swiftly and completely as he did your grandfather. Or so he thought." He walked to the window, looking outside for a minute. "You see, your father had an older brother, a brother that took over your grandfather's organization by force." He glanced at Shane. "He went to great lengths over the years to ensure you wouldn't remember him."

Andrew watched his father's reaction carefully. Then he turned back to Victor, who was obviously enjoying this.

"Your uncle is a slippery son of a bitch, Shane. And I want him dead just as much as you do."


	31. Chapter 30

**The following night**

A midnight-black stallion galloped at breakneck speed through light mists of rain, hooves kicking up divots from the thick brush underneath as he carried his rider past rows of shady trees and up the steadily rising grade toward the bluffs on the uninhabited side of a quiet, shimmering lake.

Two men on horseback trailed considerably behind.

"Sir!" one man called, standing up in his stirrups.

The rain broke through the clouds and began falling in earnest.

"Sir!"

Shane glanced back, then ducked under a low-lying branch before nudging the stallion up and over first one, then a second fallen log. He patted the horse's neck appreciatively, then spurred him on.

The men slowed their horses at the logs obstructing their path. "Commander Donovan!" the second man shouted, as his horse came to an unwieldy stop.

Shane gathered the reins in his hands and pulled back slightly, moderating the pace, then yanked at the bridle and turned the horse around. He ran a hand through his tousled, wet hair and trotted back to the waiting guards. "My apologies, gentlemen."

"Don't you think we should head back?" the first man asked, looking around at the steadily darkening forest whose only light seemed to come from electric lights on the opposite shore reflecting off the surface of the lake below.

Shane reached inside his anorak for gloves. "I told you before we set out, your protection is completely unnecessary." He slipped on the first glove, but in the slick rain resorted to using his teeth to pull on the final glove. "I want to make it to the top." He motioned to the hill behind him. "It shouldn't take long. Why don't you return to the stables. I'll meet you there shortly."

"But, sir. The storm - "

Without another word, Shane swung his horse round and jabbed him in the ribs with his knees. "Hyah!" He flicked the reins lightly, goading the horse further up the makeshift trail, leaving the bewildered guards to trek home in his wake.

Racing against the encroaching night was the only thing that helped. If he could just push through this, beat the lightning flashes in the western sky and make it to the top before the full fury of the storm unleashed itself, he would be fine. The dreams, the memories that fell on him like a death knell in Dr. Flemming's office this afternoon would all wash away with the rain. He would beat them, outrun them. He had to.

It was difficult enough to finally learn the identity of the man who had tormented him all these years - that he was his uncle, a brother his father never spoke of. But to find out from Victor Kiriakis of all people! And with Andrew looking on. Shane reached back to nick the horse's right flank with his riding crop, an implement he rarely used, and charged the horse to go farther, faster, up the remains of the hill in the near blinding rain. He could feel his caliginous thoughts close behind, gaining on him, reaching out to grab hold of him and pull him down into the muck and mire. The years of struggling to keep his head above water, confident that at least he was saving his family, that the dark man in his nightmares couldn't get to them, seemed naive and wasted. It was all a dirty trick, an unholy farce perpetrated by a man he never knew for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom. And, worst of all, as he had told the good psychiatrist, Dr. Flemming, despite reliving his capture in the Saddleback Mountains all those years ago and fully knowing for the first time what had really transpired, it didn't change anything. He was no closer to apprehending Rory, to stopping him; and he had never been more uncertain of himself - of the man he once was or the man he had become.

"Hyah!" Shane pushed the frantic horse up the remains of the outer bluff, but as distracted as he was, he miscalculated the speed. The stallion rushed headlong up the embankment, forcing Shane to jerk hard on the reins only seconds before they reached the precipice. "Whoa!" The horse reared up and stumbled backward, nearly throwing Shane off. "Whoa, Xavier! Whoa!" Xavier neighed loudly, snorting and puffing, as Shane caught a glimpse over the cliffside at the long drop down to the water. He jumped onto solid ground and pulled on the the horse's bridle with all his strength, guiding him away from the edge. "Whoa, boy," he repeated softly, shocked at how close he had come. He ran a hand over Xavier's mane and neck to soothe him. "I'm sorry, boy." He closed his eyes and took short breaths, regaining his equilibrium. "I'm sorry."

Then, as the sky streaked with lightning, an image of another cliff formed behind Shane's eyes and he could see Alfred Jericho pulling him over the edge. He remembered scraping against scraggly branches that tore at him as he grasped for and found a rock ledge to prevent him from dropping the full distance. He heard Jericho scream and looked down to where he had fallen. The searchlight from the helicopter above them beamed down, and the next thing he knew, he was hoisted up off the ledge and dragged away from the site by a group of men shouting orders to each other in an Eastern European dialect. They took him to the cave where Rory waited.

He remembered the cave; he remembered being tied up, drugged, unable to move. He had watched his uncle toy with Jericho, have him beaten, then toss him aside to die. Shane had expected to die himself. Instead, he was assigned a different fate. He ran Rory's words over and over in his mind: _"You will cease to be who you were. I'll see to it. _Then_ you will know. Then you'll understand what it feels like to lose__. You will forget and be forgotten just as I was. You were never meant to live an ordinary life, Shane. You were marked for better things."_

* * *

Kimberly gazed out the kitchen window at the splattering rain, then put her hand over the telephone receiver as the tea kettle whistled insistently. "Marlena, I'm sorry. I can't hear you. Just a minute." She grabbed a potholder and moved the kettle to a trivet on the counter. "Now, is something wrong? Is it Roman? The kids?"

Marlena hesitated, trying to find the right words. She had agonized over even calling, unsure as to whether she should tell Kimberly or not. There was a certain ethical line she refused to cross, but personally, well, if it had been her, she would have liked to know. "No, Kimberly. It's Shane," she blurted out.

"Shane? What about him?" Kimberly had tried hard to keep him from entering her thoughts too often.

"He came to me last week, wanting my help. I didn't feel right treating him, so I recommended a colleague of mine..."

As amazed as she was he had actually asked for help, Kimberly knew why. Though she felt it was what he needed, it still made her uneasy. "What happened?"

"Dr. Flemming couldn't really say, of course," Marlena returned, "but he called me today to warn me."

"Warn you?"

"He didn't say specifically, but he suggested I check in on him, that he was in a very fragile state after their session this afternoon." Marlena sensed the silent acknowledgment on the other end of the line, and the trepidation and concern all wrapped up in a mass of swirling emotions. She had been there before. "I just thought you should know."

Kimberly tried to digest the information. She was feeling so much better today than yesterday. The cloud hanging over her seemed like a figment from a long-lost bad dream. She knew she was swimming in a sea of denial, but for the moment, it felt good and easy, less complicated. Now her heart was being tugged in a familiar direction and she couldn't seem to stop it. "Thank you, Marlena," she managed to get out. "I appreciate your telling me."

"Have you seen him today?"

"No, I -" _I've been avoiding him._

Marlena understood. "Will you let me know if you need anything from me?"

"Of course. You'll be the first person I call." They exchanged a few more words of mutual comfort before Kimberly replaced the phone in its cradle and stood staring at the teapot, collecting her thoughts. Then she lifted it onto a tray, added a second porcelain cup just in case, and headed for the living room.

* * *

Shane came in through the back way, stopping to pull off his boots and leave his coat to dry in the mud room. He then ducked into the bathroom and grabbed a thick white bath towel, rubbing it vigorously over his wet head, face and neck. Removing his riding jacket, he draped the towel over his shoulders, being careful to remain quiet so as not to disturb Andrew in the studio across the hall. He had faced enough of his son's pointed questions on the ride home from the Kiriakis estate yesterday, unable to give him the answers he sought. Armed with new clarity, he still wished to put off any further explanations, at least for now. The thought exhausted him.

He squinted in the dimly lit hallway, slowly making his way towards the soft, warm light of the living room. He noted with mild curiosity the fire that flickered in the hearth and the book that lay open on the coffee table, but his mission at the moment was to pour himself an over-full tumbler of single malt scotch to steady his nerves. He had spent the last hour and a half giving Xavier a good rub-down, hoping to make up for his recklessness and expending as much energy as he could in the process, but he couldn't get out from under the feeling he was sinking.

He untapped the crystal decanter and splashed the liquor into a glass, taking his first tentative sip. He thought after all this time finally knowing the truth would calm him, be a source of relief. Instead, it unnerved him, and he couldn't stop shaking. He leaned back against the bar and drained the glass, holding its coolness against his forehead a minute before setting it on the bar and taking a deep breath.

A light clanking sound behind him drew his attention and he reached for the Glock-17 holstered at his belt, unhitched the safety and turned round in one swift motion.

Kimberly looked at him, wide-eyed. "I left my gun in my purse," she ad-libbed, setting the tray down carefully on the coffee table, amazed she hadn't dropped it.

He exhaled loudly, switching the safety back on and placing the gun under the bar - out of reach. "I'm s-" He blinked rapidly, shaking his head at himself. "Sorry."

Noting how pale he had gone, she said with the hint of a smile, "The tea's not _that _bad."

He attempted a smile, then gestured uncertainly at the gun. "Habit."

She picked up the teapot and poured herself a cup, watching out of the corner of her eye as he matched her with a hefty batch of scotch. "I'd offer you some," she said, adding sugar to her tea and sitting down on the couch. "But your tastes seem to be running more Irish than English at the moment." She raised an eyebrow. "Or should I say Scottish."

"Scotch-Irish maybe." He lifted his glass to her, impressed as always by how deftly she defused the tension. He took a slow sip. "So, what are you doing up at this hour?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Couldn't sleep."

He glanced astutely out the window at the rain drizzling down. "The storm?"

Taking in his wet hair and rumpled clothes, she responded kindly, "I see you got caught in it."

"Yeah, I, uh..." He rubbed his neck with the towel, then draped it over a chair. "I couldn't seem to outrun it."

She studied him closely. "I can see that."

He shifted his stance uncomfortably. She still saw far too much. "Listen," he stared beyond her so as not to meet her unbroken gaze. "I have some work to do, so..." He grabbed his glass and a spare bottle of Dalmore from the back of the bar. He glanced at her book. "I'll leave you to it," adding, "I'll be in my office if you need me."

"You can tell me, you know," she said softly, returning her cup to the tray in front of her.

He halted his attempted escape, fixing his eyes on the carpeting. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about." He hoped that would suffice.

She looked over at him. "And what if I am? What then?" To be honest, she wasn't sure she could answer her own question.

He set the bottle of scotch on the side table next to her and ran a hand over his mouth, gathering himself before returning her look. "You're going home in a few days. There's no need to involve yourself."

"Maybe I can help."

"Perhaps I wasn't clear." His voice deepened. "I don't _want_ you involved."

"You mean you don't want my help," she returned calmly.

"I didn't say that." He sighed. "I just don't want to involve you any more than I already have." An edge crept into his voice. "Now, can we leave it at that?" He set down his glass, and began wringing his hands together.

Kimberly stood and walked to him. "Shane, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She reached for his hands. "You're shaking."

He dropped them from her grasp and shoved them under his arms. "Don't worry about it."

"Did you have another dream?"

He shook his head.

"Did you remember something else?"

He stepped away from her. "Don't..." He waved her off.

"Shane, you should try and talk about - "

He whipped round to face her. "Don't play the therapist with me, Kimberly. I've had enough of that for one day, all right?"

She nodded cautiously. "All right."

He exhaled sharply. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I know."

He ran a hand through his hair and walked to the French doors, pushing back the curtain and looking out for a while. Sensing her eyes on him, he looked over at her. "You don't seem surprised I've seen a therapist."

She traced the edge of the sofa table with a hand. "I'll admit to being a little surprised at first." She matched his even stare. "But I'm glad you did."

He slipped his hands into his pockets and moved to the fireplace. "Peachy would be pleased. She tried to get me to see someone for years." He held his hands out to the fire and rubbed them together. A slow smile edged his lips. "Doubtless she'd always found me somewhat... unbalanced."

Kimberly chuckled lightly. "No." She folded her arms. "She just wanted you to ask for help."

He set his jaw, tensing his shoulder muscles, bracing himself, though he didn't know why.

"I know it doesn't come naturally to you." She started to approach him but thought better of it. She decided to approach him with words. "It must have been pretty awful."

He stared into the fire.

She took another tack. "Have you..." She bit her lip. "Have you had any more of those attacks? Like the ones in Rome, or a couple months ago at my folks' place?"

He shook his head, wondering where she was going with this. "No. Not in a while." He turned back to her. "Why?"

She thought a minute. "You remember him now, don't you?" She searched his face. She knew how much talking about the dark figure in his dreams affected him.

He looked away. "_He_ didn't want me to remember."

"But you did."

He forced himself to meet her eyes again, noticing how easy it was to get lost in them. He nodded and turned away from her again, intent on maintaining some semblance of control. "Finally," he said through clenched teeth.

"Who is he?" She broached the topic carefully, feeling his discomfort far too keenly. She wanted to know, but it had been such a long time since she had felt this aware of someone else besides her children. Too long since her breathing had matched his. Yet, somehow, it all came back in this moment, and she knew that once he confided in her, if he did, there would be no going back.

"He..." He took a breath and stopped himself, letting silence blanket the space between them. He rubbed his eyes. "God, I don't want to do this."

She eyed him knowingly. "It's been hard on you, carrying all this alone."

"But this isn't only about me." He brushed past her. "He's after our _son!_" He gestured towards the back hallway. Cognizant of Andrew sleeping in the studio, he dropped the volume of his voice but not the intensity. "He used my brother to threaten Andrew for years. And Winters." He shook his head in disgust. "Now it looks like Jericho was involved. They were all in play from the very beginning." He was thinking out loud, and the words came rushing out uncensored. He glanced at her, anxiously seeking reassurance. For some reason, even as the bare truth came spilling out of him, he needed to know that no matter what he told her, no matter how much he revealed, she would be all right. He needed her steadiness to steady him right now. Finding her unmoving, he allowed himself to continue. "He had you and Jeannie followed. Anything he could use against me. And all because of some ancient grudge against my father he's held on to for God knows how long!" He turned to her, filled with the pent-up frustration of mountains of unanswered questions. "Had I known who he was, had I remembered before now, I could have stopped him." He walked the length of the sofa, furiously rubbing his hands together. "I could have found a way to get to him before Andrew was hurt, before any of this was set in motion. I could have - "

"You could have what, Shane?" she interjected, knowing full well what it felt like to take on more than you're responsible for. "What could you have done?"

"I don't know!" He raked his hands through his hair. "Something!"

"But he didn't want you to remember him. He made sure of that." She stepped up to him. "_He _placed those memory blocks there. Not you."

He swallowed hard. "I know what he did, what he was capable of when he operated from the safety of knowing I couldn't identify him." He paced in front of her. "But now that I remember, and he _knows_ I remember. Now that you and the children are back in my life, I..." He stopped, rooted to the spot. His mouth went dry. "I have no idea what lengths he'll go to get to me." He hesitated. He had become so used to filtering what he said that this sudden desire to tell her his every thought and feeling disconcerted him. But there was no room to hide. Not anymore. "And it scares the hell out of me."

"Shane..."

He looked away. "If anything were to happen to you, to any of you, I honestly don't know what I'd..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

She teared up at the stark reality of his statement, a reality that hit home for both of them. "Unfortunately, some things are...beyond our control."

He shook his head despairingly. "I still find that damned impossible to accept."

"So do I sometimes," she said quietly, thinking of the days ahead and the impossibility of facing what she now knew to be a very uncertain future for herself and her children.

Sensing the change in her demeanor, his eyes reached out to her with renewed concern, though he misidentified the reason for it. "You have a right to know. After all that's happened to Andrew and putting you in harm's way like this, you have a right to know everything. And I want to tell you, I do." He bit down hard. "But there's a part of me that feels if I tell you, it will only endanger you more. Or it could bring up more unpleasant memories. Hurtful memories. And I don't want to do that."

She could see the pain and frustration in his eyes.

"Lord knows I've done enough of that just by being here," he added softly.

Even with the shadow of her own life hanging over her, standing so near to him, feeling him begin to open up to her in a way she wasn't sure he had ever fully been able to do, she found herself wrested back into the moment, unwilling to go beyond it. She wanted to stay here, to be here for him now, while she still could. "It'll be worth it," she responded with conviction. "If it means figuring this out and finally getting to the truth after all this time, then it's worth it to me."

He looked down to ward off tears. Then he quietly approached her and lifted a hand to brush at her cheek gently. After a moment, he attempted a smile, dropped his hand to his side and slid past her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and resuming his watchful position by the latticed doors. "I don't know where to start."

"You could start with a name," she said simply.

"His name is Rory...Donovan."

Her eyes widened. "Donovan?"

"That's what _I _said when I found out," he said wryly, before barreling on, "My father had a brother, Kimberly. I had an uncle I knew nothing about." He poked a finger into the air. "And you'll never guess who did know, and has known all along."

She lifted her chin slightly. "Victor."

He spun round, his eyes piercing hers with a question.

She shrugged. "I figured that's where you and Andrew went."

"I'm sorry, I..." He sighed, clearly conflicted. "I should have told you. I didn't want to worry you..."

She held up a hand. "You didn't," she lied. She had lost that battle long ago. Plus, assuring him it was inconsequential gave her the double benefit of deflecting any concerns he read in her voice as attributable to her past - and not her present condition. Above all, she wished to get through the next couple days and return to Los Angeles before any news of her health came to light. "Let's just leave that for now." She continued her cover, strolling over to the chair by the fireplace and settling into it. She was more tired than she thought. "Can you tell me what happened with Jericho? You said the evidence never backed up your falling off that cliff." She leaned forward. "You had a dream about it. What happened, Shane? What really happened on that mountain?"

He stared at her, not knowing what to say as the images came back into focus. He had years of practice in relaying mission reports sans emotion, with even the most horrific of details delivered in stilted, professional language. Just the facts. The rest to be dealt with later. (Or not.) Looking into her eyes, he felt his training fall away; it became useless to him. He was staring at the one person he could never hide from. And he had certainly tried. His whole life, he had tried. It just didn't seem worth it anymore. "I was taken. I was meant to be taken. All the rest - the mission, Freddie's ambitions - they were only a distraction." He laced his fingers behind his back and paced to the bookcase, turning away from her deliberately. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I remember we were fighting." He closed his eyes. "And - and Freddie slipped. I grabbed him." He gestured to mimic the action. "And he was pulling on me. We both went over the side, but I dropped onto this ledge, and he...he fell further down. I heard him cry out." He opened his eyes. "Then they grabbed me, dragged me to a cave."

"Who grabbed you?"

He crossed his arms in front of him, fixing his eyes on the floor. "Men, about four or five of them. They were speaking Slovenian, Czech, something..."

"And they took you to a cave." Her voice softened. "Then what happened?"

"He was there. I could hear his voice." He inhaled deeply and moved farther away from her. The closer he came to discussing what had been impossible to talk about, the more distance he seemed to need.

"What did he say?" Her voice diminished to a whisper.

"I don't - He didn't say much at first. It was just the general tone." He kept his arms folded close. "They, uh, the men, they tied me to a chair. And one of them - he was big, broad-shouldered - he came at me..." He glanced over at her, checking to see she was still there. "I prepared to fight him off, and I - I passed out." He looked away again. "They drugged me with something. I was in and out of consciousness." He exhaled slowly. "Sometime later, they brought Jericho in. He was badly beaten up, broken bones, spitting up blood, probably some broken ribs." He looked up suddenly. "And he kept saying he had done it." He looked over at her. "He had done what they asked him to do. He'd brought me to them." He tilted his head to make a slight correction, "He'd brought me to _him_, to Rory."

Kimberly's heart raced as he talked. She hadn't thought about that time period in years but, clear as daylight, a distant dream recalled itself to her mind. In it, she was standing alone in their bedroom upstairs, thinking of him, wondering where he was, if he was okay, when she turned to find him framed in the doorway.

_He walked to her, kissed her, and gathered her close to him._ "_Hold on to me..." he pleaded. _

_She squeezed his shoulders tight before reluctantly pulling back, trying to discern what he had said. "What's wrong?" she asked. "What's happening?" _

_He looked deep into her eyes. "They're trying to keep me from you..." _

A chill shot through her at the memory. _"Don't go," she called after him, as he moved away. "I don't want to lose you..." _

_He pressed his mother's cameo firmly in her hand._ _"Hang on to this...Hold it until I come back, and you won't lose me..." _

Strongly affected by the vivid flashback, she lifted a hand almost involuntarily to her mouth and inhaled sharply.

He turned at the sound, narrowing his eyes at her expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I..." She shook her head. "Just a feeling." A feeling she didn't like. She swallowed and placed her hands in her lap. "I'd always felt someone was trying to take you away from me, but I couldn't articulate it. I thought it was all in my head." She lifted her shoulders self-consciously, avoiding his penetrating stare. She was afraid he would see right through her, that he would know there was more to it. It wasn't just the eerie prescience of the dream that startled her, but the existence of the cameo so closely connected to it. Years after she'd returned it to him, she had regretted it. Not at first, of course. At first, it had seemed the most healthy thing to do, to divest herself of all reminders of their life together, the promises they had made and failed to keep - the promises _he_ had failed to keep. At the time, he seemed to want it that way, so she gave him what he wanted. But after his disappearance, when she'd first learned he might be dead, she had longed to hold that cameo again, to have a piece of him, something tangible. So she wouldn't lose him.

She could see her admission was making him uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "What did Rory want from you?" She looked up at him. "Did he say?"

He blinked at her and rubbed his eyes briefly, turning away as he did so and taking up his post by the windows. "Freddie bargained with him, begging to be let go. The more he begged, the more Rory's men beat him, kicked him in the side. I heard him shouting. I could hear the blows landing." He took a breath. "Then, at Rory's instruction, they took him out and killed him. He said to make it look like an accident." His voice faltered. "I expected them to do the same to me." He glanced at her. "But Rory kept saying things like he wanted me to understand what he'd gone through. That I would become nothing - no one. That I would forget and be forgotten."

Kimberly could feel the tension building in him as he spoke. "But you escaped." She stood slowly to her feet to address him. "Was he going to kill you? Did you get away before he could?" She gripped the side of the chair as she considered a more sinister option. "Or did he let you go?"

He folded his arms again, his eyes fixed on a point outside in the shadowy gardens.

She took a tentative step towards him. "Shane?"

"I don't know," he replied quietly.

She couldn't believe she was even thinking it, but... "Those drugs he gave you, did they somehow wipe out your memory? And then he let you go?"

"I don't know."

"Why would someone do something like that? For what purpose? What kind of sick - ?"

"I told you_ I don't know_." He pursed his lips together and pivoted to face her. "That's it." He dropped his hands to his sides helplessly. "That's all there is. I can't remember a single thing more." His jaw tightened. "I can only go so far, then it all just fades to black." Exasperated, he paced back behind the sofa. "I don't know if I broke free or if someone helped me escape; if he wanted to kill me or if.." he looked over at her, "he wanted to take away my life by taking away my memory." He resumed pacing. "I don't remember anything besides the sound of his voice and that dark, rat-infested cave." He gestured widely as he talked. "I don't know how long I was there, I don't know how I got out. I don't know what he wanted to do with me and I most certainly don't know why! All I have are these damned flashes and bits of dreams about he and my father at the Manor and he and I on that infernal mountain, and he - " He stopped before venturing further and threw up his hands in frustration. "It seems I don't know anything anymore." He turned abruptly towards her. "All I know is that when I'm with you it's the only time anything makes any sense, the only time _I_ ever made any sense."

It was her turn to be shocked into silence. His eyes locked on to hers. They stood absorbed by each other till the dust could settle on his words and the emotional charge of the moment had eased to where she was left grappling with the awkward feeling she should say something and he with the feeling he had said far too much.

He clasped the edge of the sofa and looked down at his feet. "Kimberly, I..."

"Why don't you sit down?" she said gently. "I'll get you some water."

He nodded and sunk down onto the sofa with a long sigh.

She poured him a glass and settled onto the cushion beside him.

He took the glass from her. "Thanks." He started to bring it to his lips, but found his hand had started shaking again. He put his arm down. "Blast."

"Here." She put her hand over his to steady it and raised the glass so he could drink.

He took a grateful sip, feeling a complete fool, but comforted by her close proximity and soothing manner.

She delivered the glass to the coffee table and tucked her legs up under her, letting in the quiet of evening. She glanced towards the windows and the fading moonlight. "There's more, isn't there?"

He ran a hand wearily over his forehead. "I told you I don't remember..."

"I'm not talking about that mountain. Or about Jericho." She shifted in her seat. "I mean there's more than you're telling me...about what happened to you in Prague, for example."

His eyes met hers.

"Have you told anyone about it?" she ventured.

He studied his hands. "Peachy knew...some. She arranged the rescue operation once she'd figured out I was still alive. But Nico, he's the only one I told." He dropped his head back against the pillows. "God. Nico."

She watched him lean forward and put his face in his hands. "Nico? What about him?" She reached for his arm. "What's going on, Shane?"

He lifted his head. "You remember the urgent phone call I received the other morning?"

She nodded, vaguely aware of why he'd left the room, as she had been in too much pain to bother with the reason.

"I was expecting a call from him. He was putting me through to Drew." He rested his elbows on his knees. "But, as it turned out, Rory got there first. He managed to free Drew - " He leaned back against the cushions. "And he took Nico."

She reached for his hand. "Oh, Shane. I'm so sorry."

"God only knows what he's done to him."

"God knows," she repeated softly. After a few minutes, she added cautiously, "But you have an idea, huh?"

His shoulders stiffened.

She could feel the wall going back up between them. "You don't want to talk about it," she said matter-of-factly. "But you really should, you know." She squeezed his hand lightly.

"I know." He covered her hand with his. "I should. Part of me wants to, to finally tell you..." He drew a breath. "This may sound strange. You see, I can say the words in my head, but if I ever go so far as to actually say them aloud, I fear - well, it feels like I'm admitting..."

"Admitting it really happened?"

"Yes." He peered at her. "You understand all this, don't you?"

"Yeah. I do."

He clasped her hands in his warmly, then slowly brought one hand to his mouth and kissed it, his lips lingering there while he closed his eyes and let out a breath. He stayed like that a moment, before he kissed her hand again, lifting his eyes to hers slightly before turning her hand over in his and kissing the sweet softness of her palm.

She closed her eyes.

He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her hand, straightening her fingers so his kisses could continue. Then he stopped, looked up at her, and waited.

She opened her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at how much a single look from him could affect her. His eyes carried all the secrets he found too disquieting or painful to share openly, and she found she could always believe what she saw in his eyes, even when what he said or did seemed inimical to her. What she saw now surprised her by its intensity. It was pure, unabashed need. It was devastating.

She withdrew her hand from his just enough to reach up and trace an invisible line over his jaw and up to his lips.

He kissed her fingertips and she leaned in towards him. He moved nearer and kissed her lips, his eyes openly checking and rechecking with hers, looking for permission, for reassurance, for a reflection of need that matched his own. She gave it to him. Their lips met again and again, brushing up against each others' lightly, their eyes connecting, their lips touching and tingling, drawing closer and closer, sinking deeper and longer into caresses of lips and eyes and hands. He ran a hand gently over her hair and down to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as she kissed him. Then he closed his eyes, breathed her in one final time, released her mouth, and rested his forehead against hers.

She had steadied him. But as she shared his heartbeat for a moment, she came to the slow realization that he had unsteadied her - but in a good way, in a way that made her feel alive and accepted and strengthened and more herself than she had in ages. She didn't know what to do with the rush of emotions. In response, she blurted out, "It's late."

"Mm." He pulled back from her. "You should get some rest." He brushed her hair affectionately away from her face.

She looked at him. "So should you."

He attempted a weak smile and kissed the top of her head.

Still holding his hands in hers, she stood. "After all, we have an early plane to catch tomorrow." She let him go.

He furrowed his brow. "We?"

She straightened her shoulders. "I've decided to go to New York with you after all."


End file.
